We Are the Dead
by the-brightest-fell
Summary: Ghost/Haunted House AU! Maka Albarn wasn't entirely surprised when weird things started happening. If anyone had cared enough to ask her about it beforehand, she would've bet money on something like this occurring. Her first step in this place sent shivers running up and down her spine and left her wondering what her deranged father had gotten them into now...
1. Episode 00

**My Little Spiel: **Okay, yes I realize this is not what I'm supposed to be doing right now. Explanations for my disappearance and other stuff will be in the next chapter of APoS for any of you interested. Also, I wanted to be that cool committed person who worked on one story at one time until it was finished but...yeah creativity and inspiration don't tend to follow any protocol or rules so...I've decided I'll put up whatever I have from now on and try to systematically add to the different stories. Thanks for understanding and hope you enjoy this!

**P.S.: **This story is weird in the fact that I plan to upload "episode" like chapters with a central plot that is built in the shadows. Sort of like a written TV show. Some chapters will be filler and others will have significance so I am pretty much playing with this. But I love the story and think it'll be fun.

**P.P.S: **If anyone is interested in beta-ing for the story please let me know!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Soul Eater, American Horror Story, The Shining, the DSM, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, the TV channel Chiller, Ramen noodles, Lord of the Rings, the Wizard of Oz, or any other generic horror/haunted house movie/idea. I only own the sarcasm ;)

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Episode 00- Never Let The Man-Whore Pick Out Your New Home

She wasn't entirely surprised when weird things started happening. If anyone had cared enough to ask her about it beforehand, she would've bet money on something like this occurring. Her first step in this place sent shivers running up and down her spine and left her wondering what her deranged father had gotten them into _now_.

It wasn't unusual for Papa to drive her crazy with his thoughtless actions and his constant philandering. She had known the moment the pretty violet-haired realtor with her huge boobs and itty bitty waist came into view that her dumbass father would buy the house—if only because he strived to bed the enticing seller.

Though his moronic sexual actions pissed the hell out of her, the purchase of their new place of dwelling hadn't mattered much initially. She had wholeheartedly agreed with her father's desire to move houses, which eventually escalated to moving cross country to a different state. Neither of them wanted to remain in the painful, suffocating cloud of memories that settled like an unwelcome visitor in their old home. It was a chance meeting in a coffee shop that led to her father acquiring a well-paying job down in Death City, Nevada and voila! New state, new city, and, a new structure soon to be called "home."

This particular house (or was estate the proper word?) was reasonably priced, actually greatly reduced from its original value, and was lovely. It was old, Victorian, and probably too large for only two people to live in, but it possessed a strong aura and…character. She could picture herself lounging on the duvet in the sunroom on Sundays reading Jane Austen novels or spreading out numerous ingredients along the black marble island in the kitchen to practice different dishes and courses for the cooking class she had signed up for.

Yes, Maka Albarn could easily imagine herself living in Gallows Mansion, at least this last year before she graduated.

Well, until she stepped inside and her "spidey-senses" started tingling.

At first, she merely acknowledged it as irrational (but explainable) nerves. Somewhere deep down (WAY down) inside of her, she knew her inner child waited, foolishly holding on to the hope that mommy and daddy would get back together and she'd return to her simple pink bedroom with the fuzzy white carpet in the cozy abode of her birth. The cynical adult that dominated her thought processes, however, was positive not only were her parents never going to reconcile but mommy-dearest wasn't even going to return to America; she was too caught up in her need to run from the pain and betrayal of her cheating husband to stay and look after her only child.

But the farther she "intruded" into the manor, the worse she felt. Tingles and shivers escalated to shakes and feverish chills. Every now and then she'd glance over her shoulder after swearing something flashed along her peripheral vision. What had once been a promising, charming house was quickly morphing into one of the possessed manors that dominated the horror movie genre.

Maka wasn't too keen on being murdered in her sleep by vengeful ghosts and demons, thank you very much.

Yet what was her father doing? Oh yeah. Attempting to seduce the seductress who was obviously pulling a fast one on them. Cheap old house with creepy gut feelings? She didn't need "redrum" written on the wall to alert her to the American horror story they were about to embark on.

Wait, was he _signing the god damn papers_?

Damn her chauvinistic, horny Papa! And damn that poorly dyed purple double-Ds bombshell realtor! She had better not expect "getting any" after selling what was most likely a house riddled with curses and unsolved murders to them!

It only took two weeks for her father's idiotic, dick-propelled decision to cause her to go crazy.

Like, _literally_ crazy.

Maka was smart and wanted to be a psych major; though she had listened to her gut which sarcastically mused the possibilities of a supernatural terror tucked in the basement, her logical, scientific mind wouldn't allow such a theory to be realistically considered. She knew the different mental illnesses and all the definitions of "mentally unstable" and that was the only explanation that fit all the strange things she witnessed.

Having hallucinations, auditory or visual, were pretty good signs of the infamous "I think I've lost my marbles" diagnosis.

And she was having _both_.

Originally, the fiery blonde thought of nothing but bashing in her father's skull with Leo Tolstoy's _War and Peace_ for actually causing her to "go crazy," but to be fair it wasn't all Papa's fault. The majority of the blame for her constant unreal imaginations she vehemently believed lied with the suspicious, unusual air of the house. And the town, too. Everyone in Death City gave off the tiniest impression of being almost off their rockers.

And she was mature enough to accept a _partial_ bit of the blame for her current predicament and misery. She had foolishly and submissively gone along with this auspicious ordeal, slipping on an extremely fake slaphappy smile when seller and buyer had turned to ask her for her opinion. Course, her father sort of _signed the god damn papers _before he asked if she was privy to the house and wouldn't mind living there, but still. She liked to think that if she had mentioned her unease or dislike of Gallows Mansion he would've backed down and respected her wishes. Then, they wouldn't be living in a house that was either haunted (yeah, right!) or was slowly driving its smartest inhabitant to unreality and white walls in a loony bin.

Lesson number one: never let the man-whore pick out your new home. Eighty-five percent of realtors were young women after all…

And thirty percent of home owners were violently murdered inside their homes; no doubt a Victorian structure of this age and magnitude housed numerous spirits from times long gone…

Hell, when had all this supernatural bullshit settled in her brain? Maka resolutely promised to give up Chiller marathons for the next month in the hopes that this unnatural paranoia (and the schizophreniformic hallucinations tied with it) would pass.

The beginning was how one would anticipate a haunted house movie to commence. Doors would open randomly when she walked by or shut close with a loud, reverberating bang after she made it through the frame; some doors wouldn't open at all, like the ones in the West wing of the house or the basement. Certain areas of the building emitted spooky whispers or were dreadfully chilly when walked through. Sometimes, the young girl would awake in the middle of the night either from a very disconcerting but not recallable dream or from repetitive thumps in the attic—only to discover that the attic was completely and utterly empty the next day. And things would go missing and show up at random times and even more random places.

One time, she had set her keys down on a coffee table upon coming home from school. After a brief raid of the kitchen for a snack, she returned to find that they were nowhere in the vicinity. Puzzled and a little estranged, Maka had inevitably ended up spending the whole day scoring the house for them, tossing decorative pillows off of furniture and finding several dust bunnies the size of her head after thrusting her hand into places she probably shouldn't have in search for them. Maybe they ought to invest in a maid to help keep house. Then, of course, her father appeared later on in the evening, keys dangling in between his thumb and index finger, and questioned her as to why he had found them in the roast he was preparing for dinner.

Maka never could figure out an acceptable answer for him.

And her room was so fickle! An eccentric statement for sure, but one that Maka couldn't completely dispel from the recesses of her mind. _If _houses could be haunted and _if_ hers was, then she was almost positive an extremely angry (and bitchy) menopausal woman was residing in her claimed space. One second the temperature was delightful. Perfect. Matched the thermostat in the hallway. The next? Clothing was forcefully removed as the heat became unbearable.

What was she supposed to think when the thermostat in the hallway just outside her door mockingly stated it was a comfortable seventy degrees, but a step inside her room had her melting like the wicked witch of the West?

She originally (logically) assumed it was her body enduring heat flashes, though she was quite sure menopause was not the reason behind them. A few sleeps on the couch with her skin not crispy or slick with sweat upon awakening later had her hypothesizing that it was the air conditioning in her wing of the house that was messed up, though the realtor insisted all the appliances and fixtures of the building had been updated and fixed. Maka wasn't so sure about that. She certainly wasn't going to take a top heavy saleswoman's word for it.

So she invested in a handyman who made an expensive visit to inform her that there was, indeed, nothing wrong.

Yet every time she left her room, it was as if she were wading out of thick, heavy soup, like someone had constructed a second door to pass through—made of invisible gelatin. Once she erupted from the other side of the doorway, the temperature was instantly cooler and more appropriate for human living standards. Confused and slightly freaked out, Maka soon came to the alarming realization that it was only her room in the entire house that fluctuated from "it's kind of nice in here" to "welcome to the fires of Mordor."

Her resistance to dropping herself at the nearest institution held out a bit longer as she ignored these things for another few weeks. It was simpler that way. She refused to acknowledge the clammy sensation of entering her sacred area, the disappearance (and irrational reappearance) of her items, the low noises only she apparently heard, or the recent prickling, goose bump-inducing feeling she had of being watched.

However, after a month of weird stuff continuously pestering her, she ended up conceding and began to seriously doubt her sanity and mentality.

What do you do when you think you've lost it?

Maka found it very unfortunate that they never seemed to provide that particular answer in psychology textbooks.

Nonetheless, despite her supposed loss of reality, the young girl did not want to give up all that she worked for because of a momentary "slip of the mind" most likely due to witnessing a stressful divorce and moving away from everything she'd ever known…and living in one creepy, large house with her rambunctious, mostly absent father.

Until _that _day…

She had been doing well…or so she liked to think. She wasn't entirely "better," but she was on the road to improvement. When the scratchy voices purred in her ear, Maka would swat at them once and then throw on loud music to drown them out. When doors squeaked open, she would steadfastly stare straight ahead and slam them shut as she passed. She never visited the basement where nonexistent chainsaws screamed for release. She locked the empty attic to prevent her inquisitive wanderings after a restless night because of enthusiastic poundings from up above and settled into the new routine of wearing earplugs to bed. And to deal with her room…

Maka planned to admit defeat for the sake of her mental stability (or whatever was left of it) and gathered her things to move to a different section of the house—the quieter, albeit darker, West wing. Locked doors wouldn't be able to keep her from cool, dreamless sleep!

That was the day her hallucinations really got out of control.

Because that was the day she saw _him_ for the first time.

Maka knew she was gifted with an especially strong and inspiring imagination. The many years of being an only child and hiding away from her parents' constant fights led her to books which in turn opened up wondrous realms full of possibilities. With her innate creativity and love for language, the shift from reading books to writing books was a natural, effortless progression. There were (unfortunately) several occasions where she abashedly admitted her talent got a little out of hand. Namely, those weeks where she sat at her computer typing so long she almost forgot what another human being looked like as well as how one conducts themselves in public. When her mother would eventually drag her out of her room and haul her off to eat a "proper" dinner (apparently Ramen noodles did _not_ count as sustenance or food), she would usually, by the end of a night, spill five beverages, break three plates, drop her silverware twice, and accidentally throw someone's dinner on the floor.

But those instances looked like child's play compared to the new thing her wild imagination had conjured.

She could deal with the freaky noises that reverberated solely in her head. She could deal with the frequent "lapses in her memory" that accounted for the string of missing and inexplicably found items in and around the house. She also could deal with the doors that opened without anyone touching them or the myriad of flashes in her peripheral vision. Hell, she could even deal with the imaginary wall of jelly, the revolting daily pattern of parading around in her swimsuit after school because of her room's unexplainable production of heat, and the growing paranoia of being watched constantly. But this…this was _too much_.

Why the _fucking hell _did she see a _person_ sitting on _her bed_?

And wait a second…was said person a _he_?

It was official—the straight jacket and foamed walls were calling her name.

Maka's shriek of surprise and dismay in finding how out of hand her chemical imbalance had become (understatement of the year) was met with a lazy smirk of victory and twinkling red eyes from said "chemical imbalance." As though he had expected her shrill entrance.

Which made sense since he obviously did not exist outside of her demented, insane mind. Of _course_, he would know that she would scream because he wasn't real except to her because in a convoluted sense he _was _her and therefore would know what she would do and…dear Lord what was going on? What happened? Did she sniff too much diacetone alcohol when using Sharpies yesterday? Was that what pushed her brain over the edge and down into a spiral of madness and illusions?

In short Maka Albarn repeated the million dollar question to herself…

What do you do when you think you've lost it?


	2. Episode 01

**A/N: **So...this is what I am currently doing with my life right now. APoS should be updated soon, but this is, quite honestly, more fun at the moment. I think that Maka has the potential to be a lot more sarcastic than any of us think (she lives with _Soul _and _Bla__ir _after all, and let's not forget she's friends with _Black Star_, I think even Kidd had to gain a sarcasm backbone after meeting him) so having this type of Maka in my head is a whole heck of a lot of fun. Also, later when things get more interesting the Soul/Maka dynamic should make everyone (including me) happy, so...we'll see how this goes!

Thank you so much for all the follows, favorites, and reviews! Replies to reviews are gonna be at the bottom.

**Disclaimer: **The voices in my head tell me I own Soul Eater. But my invisible pet dragon swears the voices aren't real so...guess I don't own it. (Or Lil Wayne, Shakira, Coca-Cola, little phrases that come from internet videos, the Bible, Donnie Darko, Harry Potter, and anything else I mentioned that we all know is not mine-I do take responsibility for all sarcasm, however.)

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-Episode 01-

You Know You're Antisocial When You Start Creating Imaginary Friends

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"Oi."

Maka squeezed her closed eyes tighter, hoping and praying that _his _voice would go away and not come back any other day. It was odd and unsettling to have husky, velvety maleness breathing into her ear this early in the morning.

"Oi. I know you're awake."

Deep breaths. Continue to ignore. It'll pass…eventually….hopefully…

"Hellooooo in there! Your dumb and annoying alarm is going off again, so I think it's time for you to get up, woman."

She flipped from her left side to her right in a futile attempt to shake whatever hold this early morning hallucination had over her. Not that it would do much good. She knew from past experience that it wasn't easy getting rid of _him_.

Or was she supposed to call him an _it_ since _it _wasn't actually there?

Hell if she knew. There wasn't exactly a handbook on "proper interaction with your illusions" etiquette.

"For Grim's sake will you please get out of bed and turn the damn thing off! Some of us need beauty sleep and, for the record, it doesn't matter how many hours you get, your tits aren't gonna grow. So get your ass up and quiet it before I throw it out the window!"

If Maka had learned anything from this strange embodiment of her subconscious it was that she buried a lot of annoyance and anger on the inside. And sarcasm. Loads and loads of sarcasm. Which was funny and ironic because she would have assumed with the frequency of her Maka-chops and the multitude of snide remarks she uttered each day that she was releasing her pent up rage and irritation just fine.

Ah, well. At least she understood herself better now. That counted as silver lining on some cloud, right?

With a resigned sigh, the blonde girl heaved herself up and swung a leg out of bed, all the while refusing to stare at the second body in the room. The body that wasn't a body; the person that wasn't a person.

She had gotten a good look at him before deciding that if she evaded seeing him then eventually her brain would _have _to get bored of tormenting her. But, judging by how often he appeared and insisted on talking to her, she came to the startling conclusion that she was an "in the closet" masochist.

During her prolonged ogle of the strikingly handsome _man_ her apparently perverted (and masochistic) mind fabricated, Maka couldn't help but pat herself figuratively on the back. As boys go, he was beautiful and unusual. A real masterpiece. She had never seen anyone like him before and mused where on Earth she had hidden him in her fantasies. His hair was colorless, transparent, but shone with an inner white-blue light that granted it the ability to consume and emit a variety of shades and colors from his surroundings. It hung haphazardly with alternating spikes and bangs throwing his aristocratic features into shadow for a moment before he gingerly swept it out of his way. The action brought blazing, simmering red eyes to her attention and their rapt, intense gaze elicited a gasp from her wide open mouth. She struggled, as writers do, to find the perfect description for the rich cardinal color he was lucky enough to have in his irises only to discover that garnets and rubies could hardly do them justice and were truthfully quite poor comparisons. The intense color scheme of red, white, and golden skin seemed to shine against his dark pinstriped suit and she had felt seriously underdressed in her pale pink bikini in the sweltering air of her room.

And to top it all off? His wide smirk at her apparent embarrassment and state of undress revealed glistening, razor sharp blades someone ingeniously put in place of the regular, blunt squares most people had in their mouths.

Maka didn't particular want to psychoanalyze why her latest hallucination was a demon-like boy with shark teeth in her bedroom. The prude in her feared what Freud would deduce from these sensual attributes, what they attested to when it came to her more…womanly desires.

Was her Papa's horndog kink hereditary?

Oh, God, look away! Look away!

And from that panicked thought onwards, she did. She refused to let her eyes wander over his physique any longer than that first wondrous, unknown glance, though damn did he look dashing in that neatly pressed suit! Still, madness would not have free reign over her time and energy anymore! This, this was the breaking point and Maka'd be damned if her lonely, discouraged teenage subconscious would get the best of her!

But, on second thought, maybe a visit to a therapist might be in order since pretending he wasn't there…in her room…every day…wasn't working out exactly how the blonde wanted it to.

A loud, disgruntled scoff sounded to her left and, though she steadfastly kept her eyes pinned to the floor and her fuzzy socked feet, she saw in the corner of her vision his tall frame leaning languidly against the wall. She barely noticed his chin dip in irritation as her alarm continued to wail in the background like the opening to a Lil Wayne song before a chill passed over her; her shoulders and arms ignited into tense muscles and upraised goose bumps.

He was watching her. She knew it, too. Cause she only felt this way when he focused intently on her, which usually took place right before a rude remark or passing comment she assumed was meant to make her talk. Maka was slightly unnerved at how clever and sadistic she was to her own self.

"Since when do you wear a bra and sweat suits to bed? I preferred last week's attire of big shirts and panties."

Anddddd there it was. She didn't have to peek at him to simply _know_ he likely sported a lecherous grin. It was a shame that the disgusting essence of a male remained even in her creation.

Silence was her reply. Silence was her life now. When he wasn't yacking her ear off with his constant stream of cynical profanities and steady influx of questions, he followed her.

All. Around. The. Damn. House.

She barely opened her mouth anymore, fearful that she _would _essentially begin to talk to herself (she believed discussion within the mind was acceptable) and that would mean insanity was winning. The bathroom was the only safe haven left. It had been in danger of intrusion as well until she had acknowledged his existence long enough to threaten that, real or not, should he attempt to peep on her, his little peepers would be cruelly ripped off.

He had mused how conflicted she made him feel that day—happy that she had spoken to him but quite scared at her fierce speech. He didn't dare follow her in though, and that made her brief submission to her illusion worthwhile.

Well at least the option of becoming a nun was more realistic and available. Maka swore to her mom, in one of their last conversations, that she'd never let a man own her. Kami's response was to merely laugh guiltily and awkwardly before informing Maka that the monastery life wasn't for her—she wouldn't last a day under a vow of silence—and that she'd find the proper one. In time.

The young blonde wondered whether or not her mother would believe that Maka had been practically mute for three whole days. Probably not. All her life she'd been too emotional, sarcastic, and eager for knowledge to keep still and silent…until her subconscious decided to go all schizophrenic on her.

Ironic, wasn't it? The reason she felt trapped and oppressed in her own home was _because _of herself.

Ah, well. Daylight was burning and she was yearning. For school. And all the peaceful escape and solitude that she associated with the creepy institution.

Shibusen Academy was an old psychiatric hospital turned local high school. Apparently the hospital shut down sometime in the mid-70s for reasons not officially disclosed; Maka suspected it had something to do with the Progressive Era's terrible experiments and lobotomies on the mentally ill. The previous high school, the DWMA or something like that, burned down in '83 and the town didn't have enough taxpayer dollars to rebuild. So, with another building practically the same size as the one that fell to ashes conveniently unoccupied a few miles down the road, Death City decided to convert the ex-psych ward into its high school.

As if school wasn't prison enough figuratively the students at Shibusen Academy literally sat in rooms that once caged inmates. Maka almost felt like they were filling placeholders—old out, new in. It made the already estranged town just that much stranger to the blonde.

Don't get her wrong, the young female loved school. Perhaps a little too much. And she was pretty grateful about the smooth, easy move away from her original birthplace. But living in a town called Death City in a house named Gallows Mansion and going to a high school that used to be a mental facility was a smidgen weirder than she originally anticipated for her life to be. Nonetheless, though initially she found the school a bit disturbing and the youth annoying, Shibusen Academy had an excellent and expansive library she fled to during her breaks and for a handful of hours after the day was done.

The cherry on top?

She didn't hallucinate at Shibusen and if that wasn't a beautiful, refreshing liberation then someone please inform her otherwise.

But this particular day was passing excruciatingly slowly and her heart just wasn't in it. Maka, normally a model student with an impressive, slightly scary attention span, uncharacteristically fiddled with her pen, juggling it across her fingers and spinning it in circles on the wooden table. Her teacher, a lonely stout woman who usually believed constant rambles were more educational than prescribed course material, currently ranted about the latest conspiracy and gossip floating around Death City. Admittedly the story was interesting and the blonde was thankful that nothing important was being discussed on the day her concentration decided to go for a vacation, but honestly she wanted nothing more than to go home. Not to Gallows Mansion where sounds echoed in the emptiness and her sanity disintegrated to pieces, but the tiny three room duplex she had shared with her mother, father, and a questionable older man on the other half. She longed for that place where the sun shone properly (in Death City it appeared to have a weird, imperfect shape to it…almost like it was maniacally grinning) and she could walk outside without feeling like she had been deep fried at the Texas State Fair.

"…the death count is too damn-ehem, too darn high! Some sources state it has escalated to approximately four and a half people so far and DCPD is refusing to release a report on what's going on! You really should pay attention, children, and use your critical thinking skills to assess what's occurring in your community because vigilance is the key to progress, success, and protection."

A student a few seats away from Maka, whose name she couldn't quite recall due to the fact that she was way too caught up in his hairstyle at the time of introductions, raised a hand in the air. It was straight as an arrow with the elbow locked into place and the teenage girl wondered if he was attempting to match his pointed black…whatever-they-weres, maybe fake hairpieces, on either side of his shiny bald head.

"Excuse me, Miss Sani, but how exactly can only four and _a half _people be dead?"

Maka sluggishly rubbed her heavy eyes and reclined on an arm as her attention switched back to the disgruntled teacher. She had secretly been asking the same thing.

"We-well, you know that-they-it…in, in one instance they only found half a body, Mr. Ford!"

"So they found four and a half bodies…but, and correct me if I am wrong, Miss Sani, a person cannot live with only half their body intact, which would mean there is a total of five people dead."

The class erupted into barely suppressed snickers and chortles. Even Maka couldn't completely hold back a smirk. She could tell by the boy's straight face and monotone voice that he wasn't _intentionally_ trying to make their teacher look stupid, merely assert the right facts, but the damage was done. Miss Sani puffed out her flushed cheeks and straightened her back as she glared menacingly at the shuffling group of young people, daring someone to laugh again.

"…I suppose you are _correct_, Mr. Ford." She sneered angrily. "Ford" suddenly smiled smugly for a fleeting second, no doubt happy to be the one who was right in the facts and intellect, before his face fell back into its usual neutral blankness.

Maka snorted softly to herself. She didn't feel quite as offended as she had the day before yesterday when the creepy boy had told her she'd never be the smartest in the class. Obviously the kid had a severe academic disorder, maybe worse than hers, and didn't entirely pick up every social cue.

"In any case, due to Mr. Ford's…enlightening comment, I would like you all to research and check the facts of the crimes and investigation. Pay attention to the local news and remember to bring a _five-page report_ this Friday on anything that seems particularly sketchy or was handled improperly by the authorities. You are all dismissed."

All, except for black-pinhead-bald boy, groaned at the teacher's inflicted punishment, immediately regretting their joy at her expense. Several sent glares Ford's way, though if he noticed them he showed no indication of it, as they trudged morosely out of the classroom. Maka tiredly gathered her things and followed the crowd out, ignoring the grumbles that echoed down the ugly yellow walls. Her feet slapped loudly in the quickly emptying hallway as she sped towards the library.

Maka was fortunate enough that her last period was a free one. And what better way to spend the rest of a horrid day than in the quiet isolation of the library?

She eagerly breathed in the musty smell of gradually decaying paper and dried ink that constantly hung in the still air, immediately feeling her shoulders sag in relief. But, underneath the comforting scent, she detected the unsettlingly sting of antiseptic and disinfectant that reminded her of the building's strange past. Nonetheless, the blonde shook her head and proceeded to her little nook and table in the back where she stashed a tall pile of books she planned to read this semester.

Ten minutes into a tome that covered every Edgar Allen Poe work, Maka heard a new voice pierce the silence of the library. Curious to who, other than herself, would enter the library for fun, the bookworm stealthily untangled herself from her hidey-hole and tiptoed around a bookshelf to glimpse whoever was talking with the librarian.

And it was just the newspaper guy. Passing out the school newspaper. The newspaper that was about as factual as the _National Enquirer _and Miss Sani. Even from her sneaky spot she could see the bold, daring headline screaming "MURDERS…DCPD COVER UP?"

Figuring she may as well get the dumb report on the city's local conspiracy theory and criminal gossip over with, Maka strode forth and snatched a newspaper off the edge of the librarian's desk. She pretended not to notice the newspaper guy and the librarian's faces at her jerky motions and sudden appearance, preferring instead to stomp off angrily. Who gives young people an assignment that practically begs to distrust and rebel against authority?

Stupid small towns with their stupid, creepy schools and stupid, tight-lipped community and uneducated, gossipy teachers.

The longer Maka lived here (and the longer her subconscious projected itself as an undeniably good-looking, snarky male), the more she thought that this move had been a bad idea.

Her unease and annoyance solidified after she read the so-called "truth" of the matter on the front page of _The Shibusen Reaper. _Really, this was just poor journalism. Not to mention terrible writing; she had counted, what, seventeen grammar mistakes? We are going to _their _house. _There _is the house. And _they're _at the house. It wasn't that hard!But then again this was written by people whose most "plausible" theory was that someone was housing an experimental weapon/monster-thing and the DCPD may or may not be covering it up or is incompetent in _their _investigation.

Honestly, why not blame the aliens at this point? Everyone else did it since Roswell anyways…

But evil, uncontrollable monster apparently had a nicer ring to it.

She was almost done reading the trashy article when…

"Excuse me, you are Maka, right?"

Though the voice was soft and exceptionally timid, it didn't stop the blonde from jumping about three feet into the air and collapsing off her seat. She hastily blew her bangs out of her eyes and shoved her red plaid skirt down before glancing up from her bent sprawl on the ground.

"Oh my! I am terribly sorry…I did not mean to startle you…"

Luminous navy eyes that reminded Maka of starry nights and whale documentaries stared helplessly at her, guilt and apologies swimming on the glittering surface like rainbows dancing atop the spray of ocean waves. The girl was tall, almost freakishly so, like a supermodel, though her height was most likely accentuated by the shorter girl's position on the floor. She was also gorgeous. Incredibly gorgeous. Her voluminous shape was a living, breathing portrait of a photoshopper's wet dream. Hell, even Shakira's hips would lie if they had the chance to look like hers. The strange, exotic tilt to her eyes and long black hair hinted at an Asian ancestry and only added to her striking allure.

It was kind of sad that Maka hated her almost then and there. She tried to tell herself that it was because she had been "snooping around" and "scaring her for laughs," despite the girl's obvious embarrassment and sorrow over Maka's fall, but really it might have had more to do with the fact that this girl had boobs and a figure while Maka didn't. Not to mention this young lady was exactly her floozy father's type.

Damn teenage hormones, insecurities, and her adulterous father. As if having the frontal lobe of the brain develop and dealing with becoming a member of society wasn't hard enough at this age…let's throw in chemical imbalances, self-esteem problems, and daddy issues!

Grr. _Life_.

"Are you okay?" The tall girl hinged at the hip and stretched a perfectly smooth pale hand out towards Maka, although the movement caused her breasts to swell and that caught the other girl's attention more than the offer to help. She scrambled to her feet and moved two feet away as though her boobs were contagious or something. After her awkward shuffle, the two girls awkwardly stared at each other as Maka awkwardly shifted from foot to foot in the extremely awkward situation she had inadvertently put herself in.

"Um…good, I guess. And who are you?"

Well, Maka never was known for being "tactful" or for her bedside manner.

The supermodel-esque girl blinked profusely, just then realizing her hand was still extended out in the air. She started to retract it until she met Maka's confused gaze. Then, a bright and brilliant smile blazed forth and Maka could only stare entranced as the female took the necessary steps forward to make her weird outstretched arm the appropriate distance for a handshake.

"You are Maka, yes? My name is Tsubaki Nakatsukasa. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Eerily feeling like Paul being blinded by Jesus, Maka hesitantly met her hand, shaking it for the socially acceptable term of two seconds before removing it like she had been forced to touch fire.

"Um…yeah. Nice to meet you. And stuff."

Seriously? When on Earth had she acquired such extraordinary social skills?

Tsubaki unleashed that thousand-watt perfectly white smile again and Maka had to forcefully stop herself from backing away slowly and running for the Himalayas. If she wasn't careful things might get worse than what was already happening (which was the intrusion of her quiet and happy place). Girls, like sharks, could smell blood and fear after all.

There was a lull in the conversation (if one could even call their exchange that) as Tsubaki nonchalantly sat on the cherry oak table and glanced at Maka's outspread books, unfolded newspaper, and messy scrawl on her notepad with interest. Oh dear Lord, she had _sat down_. This woman wasn't going away, was she?

"Ah!" The raven-haired girl exclaimed. "You are looking into the recent Death City accidents! That is interesting. Especially since you live at Gallows Mansion and all. Personally, I think they are a serial killer, though perhaps I am biased. My father is one of the investigators looking into the case and he suspects that there is a pattern and profile somewhere to be found. However, I must say our school paper is not exactly the most…credible of sources if one is actually curious about the topic."

Accidents? Serial killers? And she mentioned the mansion…what was going on? Was this beauty more than a pretty face? Was she actually someone Maka could talk to?

Wait…was she making a friend?

"Um…yeah, well, it's just…Miss Sani told us to write a report on the weird stuff going on and they, well he, well the newspaper guy, just delivered it so I thought I'd take a look and…you know what, I think I just heard the bell, so I will…find you later so we can continue this…conversation…later."

Nope. No she was not. She was backtracking faster than that trippy rewind in Donnie Darko. Or as though she had borrowed Hermione's time turner. Get away. Get away. _Get away_.

"See ya later!"

Maka was ashamed that she practically sprinted from the library, fleeing like a terrified, pathetic little girl. She wasn't usually like this…so weak and fainthearted and _weird_. She could usually handle herself well enough around people. Or at least spit out one articulate fucking sentence. Sure, she didn't have many friends back in her hometown, none that she had gotten super close to, but she never avoided people to this extent. She enjoyed her quiet time, but, hey, if this girl wanted to be buddy-buddy with her and discuss a topic that honestly would engage her brain, who was she to cower and run away?

Only there was something about that girl that reminded her of fluffy snow-white hair and glowing coals, of late night noises and cold whispers.

Something was not right here. In this town. In her school. At her house.

Death City was getting a heck of a lot creepier than the name suggested and actually living up to its name with the steadily growing body count. Accidents, her ass. Maka wasn't so sure she was crazy anymore, though even the thought of not being crazy with the hallucinations she was having was crazy. Bat shit insane in fact. But her gut had never led her astray. Never. And her intellect typically backed up her intuition like a Rubik's cube finally being solved.

Now that there was a _real _person setting off her "freak-o-meter" Maka wanted to go home and appraise her so-called illusion another time. And maybe look into these so-called accidents while she was at it.

She took her usual route home, making a swift detour to the nearby gas station for a copy of two of the more "credible" newspapers in town. She started on her way again before going back to the gas station to buy a Coca-Cola. The teenager inwardly denied the idea that she was walking slower the closer she got to her destination and trying to procrastinate the inevitable. She shook off the feeling of unease and dread that settled in a coiled ball of tension in her stomach when she made it in front of her door. Pretended that she wasn't nervously panting or sweating—it was Nevada, the weather was simply hot. This happened to everyone.

Her ears strained for any noise, anything at all, once inside besides the slight squeak of the door closing and the soft thump that meant the lock had slid into place. She kept her back turned to the open lobby and just listened, waiting for any sound that hinted at someone's approach.

A piercing whistle, barely noticeable, barely there, on her left and then…

"Hey there, sweaty. What the hell? Did you run a mile in school today? Dear Grim, you stink."

Maka spun, unsurprised to see the boy who starred in her waking nightmares. The boy that wasn't a boy. Or wasn't supposed to be anyways. She wasn't so sure what he was. Chemical imbalance sounded a lot better than any other alternative. But that girl…

He seemed surprised, eyebrows hiding under his disarrayed bangs, when she didn't shirk away from him like usual or shift her gaze. Instead, her green eyes pierced his entire essence, roaming up and down. She looked for any clue, any telltale sign—of what she wasn't particularly sure. Some sign that he was either real or not real, though it shouldn't matter much. She was fucked whatever the answer ended up being.

The blonde opened her mouth to speak and watched peculiarly how the red-eyed intruder stood up out of his continual slouch and gazed at her imploringly. As if he desperately wanted her to speak to him.

Her tongue was forming words, a sound about to be thrummed into existence, when there was a loud groaning sort of noise and the chime of crystals hitting one another. Maka's eyes snapped upwards to see, with horror, the chandelier hanging in the wide front lobby swinging back and forth wildly. The fixture's holdings began to pop and give; splinters and cracks appearing in the off-white ceiling. She shrieked and heard the person-thing-illusion-_whatever _next to her yell something.

Then, there was the appearance of a shape on the chandelier, something that buzzed and trembled and was a painfully bright _blue_; or was that teal?

The "shape" jumped and agilely landed in front of Maka, morphing right before her very eyes into a person. A stocky boy just barely taller than her with hair presumably gelled into the shape of a three-pronged star and eyes a deep, wise forest green that was decidedly at odds with the intense neon-quality of his _blue/teal _hair.

"Say hello TO YOUR GOD!"

"Shut _up_, Black Star, you number one _imbecile_! You're gonna freak her the fuck out!"

Oh, fuck.

The terrified blonde whipped her head (and her hair) back and forth as her eyes flickered between Boy One with white hair and sharp teeth and Boy Two with blue hair and star-shaped pupils.

And then…there were two.

She was so dumb. She was really dumb, fo' real.

Maka hadn't felt anything weird with Tsubaki today. It had been her insanity. She had just gone so far off the fucking deep end that she was becoming antisocial. She couldn't deal with real people. And, because she was so insanely lonely…her mind was making fucking _imaginary friends_.

It was around that time that Maka Albarn said goodbye to her messed up world and fainted.

* * *

**Replies:**

**To Guest: **I am extremely glad that you love it! And I can tell you right now I don't plan on giving up any of my stories, though this one especially will be finished if only cause I enjoy the setting way too much.

**To DrOctadoctapus: **I realllllllllllly love this too! I cannot describe how much fun writing this is. I usually have fun writing whatever story, even the more serious ones like FSaLiBH will be, but this is very relaxing and flowing. Probably cause I get to unleash my suppressed sarcasm. Thank you for the encouragement!

**To GigiandMad: **I originally had not thought of putting him in the suit, but it actually ends up working rather nicely so THANK YOU FOR THAT! The sole reason Soul is going to be (for most of the story) in his suit is BECAUSE OF YOU. So if anyone is excited about that, they should be thanking you and not me. Also, yes I would appreciate you being my beta (we'll talk via PM for the next episode I suppose) because any editing help is help I would be thankful to have. As for your questions on the move...take the implication for now. Who knows what we'll find out in time?

**To all who follow/favorite**: Thank you for your support! It means a lot! Review or don't review, it does not matter too much to me. I only hope that you all love the story. I apologize for any grammar/editing mistakes. It's just me looking over stuff for now.


	3. Episode 02

**I'm Going To Slowly Annoy You All:** Yes, yes I know what a terrible person I am. Yes, yes I know I promised things that didn't happen. I would tell you all about my life (and the awesome excuses that come with aforementioned explanation), but I figure you guys would rather have, well, *cue music* the next episode of We Are the Dead! This time I'm not gonna promise things will come out soon or whatever (Life has taught me my lesson), but I shall promise that, ehem, things will _eventually _come out, whether it's WAtD or APoS or TTWS or FSaLiBH or even Vini Vidi Vici (cause some people want some more of that stuff? So I maybe might have considered continuing it...?). Either way, things will come. Though if I were to be, um, expecting "anything" relatively soon it would be another episode of We Are the Dead or part 2 of part 1 in FSaLiBH. Ciao!

**P.S.: **Really, how many of you want some more Vini Vidi Vici? Like, seriously, it's not a bad thing, but I was surprised at the number of people who asked for a continuation...so I have been slowly warming up to the idea of going along with the world I envisioned in that oneshot. I may need some help though...so if someone had any inspiration from it or ideas or whatever and really really really want a Vini Vidi Vici sequel or story or whatever, send me a PM and maybe between the two of us (or three or four or five or however many of you there are...or just me) something cool can come from it! Those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about and don't care, then you can skip this P.S. and read the next one.

**P.P.S: **Since this story is inspired in a "TV show" type way, I have been plotting out episodes and considering making this a Season One, Season Two, etc. type of thing where Season one would consist of twenty-or-so chapters and season two picks up with twenty-or-so chapters and etc. Someone either say "sure, let's try it" or "just shut up and write already, Bright!"

Anywho...thanks to all who reviewed, favorited, or followed! As, per usual, replies will be at the bottom.

**I AM CHANGING THE RATING TO 'M' FOR LANGUAGE REASONS BECAUSE I CUSS A LOT. I DO NOT THINK THERE WILL BE A LEMON IN THIS STORY.**

**Creative** **Disclaimer:** My friend and I saw a bus that was going to Unicorn Lake one time. No joke, the destination panel read UNICORN LAKE in big orange/yellow letters. The relevance of this short story? Well, let's just say I literally have a better chance of boarding a bus to freaking Unicorn Lake than I do of owning Soul Eater.

(as well as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Oxi Clean, Tide, Guinness Book of World Records, Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables_, Harry Potter...again, Freud's "id," Thor, Sonic the Hedgehog, the Matrix, Aquafina, Ritalin, Adderall, Price Is Right, Wheel of Fortune, Kenmore appliances, Dr. Pepper, _Seventeen _magazine, Wizard of Oz, or anything else I mentioned but don't own)

Enjoy!

* * *

-Episode 02-

Libraries, Newspapers, Trap Doors, Oh MY!

* * *

"You are the _biggest_, most _annoying _idiot to ever live…_and _die! Seriously!? Why the hell did you interrupt? She was about to _talk to me_!"

"Oh, quiet your jealousy, peasant. My godliness and greatness was, alas, too much for her. I'm sure my looks were quite a shock as well. Poor tiny-tits here has probably never held the attention of a male specimen as wondrous as I."

"…You're unbelievable."

"Thank you."

"Grim-you-it-uh-fuc-mm-!"

Distantly, through ears that felt stuffed full of cotton or like they needed a good pop after a trip on an airplane, Maka heard something crash and break.

"That _wasn't_ a compliment!"

"To each their own, my friend. To each their own."

"…That doesn't even-!" A shaky exhale stirred the air around Maka's left hand, making her fingers twitch. She was suddenly aware of a pounding headache, her skull feeling like a bongo banged on by a child, and the scratchy sense of leather sticking to perspiring skin. "I can't do this with you right now, man. Call me when she starts to wake, 'mkay?" Soft retreating footfalls sounded, again on her left; they were hardly audible and seemed more like the shadows of footsteps rather than actual footsteps themselves. Maka tried to shift and open her eyes to see just exactly _who _was in her house but could only moan as the tiny shuffle caused her head pain to rise to an unbearable level.

A swirl of air, noticeable only because her skin was covered in an almost feverish sweat, passed over her.

"Hey dude! I think she's-" There was a crack of something reminiscent to skin slapping skin and muffled syllables.

"Shut _up_, Star."

It was scary how heavy her eyelids were and how much time it took to blink them once. But after overcoming that first hurdle and the searing whiteness of her sight coming back, the fatigued girl blearily rubbed each eye with a palm before letting them adjust on the two other individuals in the room.

Maka had to flutter her eyelids a couple of times before it dawned on her that two extremely boyish figures were curiously leaning over her. And staring _hardcore_ at her.

So she reacted on instinct—a high pitched wail echoed in the room; a fist collided loudly with muscle and bone.

"AWH SHIT!"

Snow White tripped backwards while pressing both hands to his right cheekbone, almost falling over the dark brown coffee table in his speedy retreat from Maka's flying fists. The blue-haired dwarf beside him merely watched his stumble and swelling cheek before he laughed exultingly at his companion's pain and squatted down on his haunches, pretending to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. Chills rippled down Maka's spine and her head shakily (and painfully) turned to find crimson abysses burning into her retinas. Although she had once counted herself the scariest glarer alive, even the formidable Maka Albarn found herself almost cowering under such a toxic glower.

"Really? Why punch _me_? I wasn't the one who almost crushed you with a chandelier and made you faint!"

It was extremely strange to hear laughter and voices other than her own and her father's filling the house. It added to this falling sensation in Maka's stomach that made her feel things were happening way too fast. Her mind couldn't begin to keep up with what had happened and what was happening. Before Maka could dream up an appropriate response to her (was he still an illusion?)'s exclamation, the boy with the shocking head of neon, electric _blue _hair sat down next to her, _threw an arm around her shoulder_, and cackled almost maniacally. He completely ignored Maka's jaw dropping to the wooden floor and the fierce gleam steadily growing in the depths of her grass green eyes.

"Well, it's not like she would dare to punch me. I am the god of her house after all. You're just the creep that sleeps with her."

The tense teenage girl had been preparing for an assault, stealthily reaching for a book she had left on the end of the couch, but at this phrase Maka's already relatively still body froze and her pale face lost all color; her bleached cheeks were the intense "pure white" shade of the socks one finds in Oxi Clean or Tide commercials. Opposite her loss of color, the standing male's tan skin darkened considerably after the other male's proclamation, specifically around the tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks. The shell-shocked blonde presently couldn't tell if it was because he was enraged or embarrassed. He surely bellowed loud enough for it to be the first, though honestly she guessed it was the latter.

"I DO NOT SLEEP WITH HER! I STAY IN HER BEDROOM! THERE IS A DIFFERENCE!"

The blue-nette ignored the white-nette's splutters and fury instead opting to tighten his arm around Maka, which caused her to fall into his chest. He proceeded to waggle teal eyebrows at her.

"Bow-chicka-wow-ow. Step one in 'Operation: Get Laid' complete, eh?"

And that was the last straw.

The tiny girl suddenly had a miraculous recovery under his leering gaze, his deplorable teasing causing anger to spark strength back into her muscles, and she promptly used her advantageous position to drop her elbow _right _where it hurt.

How did he like them apples! And oh boy, if eyebrows could pop off faces, his were halfway there. Maybe she should call the Guinness Book of World Records for how high eyebrows could slant on a person's face?

"Motherfu-!"

The panting boy snapped his mouth close after Maka hopped up and successfully acquired her weapon of choice, waving it about threateningly. His prematurely greying partner off to the side watched the exchange with a crooked, sharp grin and brays a choking donkey would envy at her dominant display. Delayed snorts and "ha ha ha's" and all. She pointed her arsenal and menacing stare his direction and he, too, eventually sealed his lips.

And now Maka found herself back at square one.

It was one of those scenes that would be hard to explain if someone walked in—two teenage boys, one with a puffy cheek and the other with a bright red face, staring worriedly at a trembling girl who pointed _Les Miserables_ at them with the authority of an officer brandishing a gun. Said book-wielder risked a brief glance at the fancy clock hanging over the fireplace to see if she had to worry about an overprotective father appearing anytime soon before she remembered that the other bodies…weren't real. And, therefore, couldn't be seen.

Except her fists and elbows had connected rather soundly for something that wasn't really there. In fact, Maka suddenly could sympathize with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in _The Chamber of Secrets_. What exactly does one do when the brick wall that isn't "supposed" to be there ends up actually being…well…there?

Damn her Muggle blood! Though honestly perhaps it was better for the safety of the world that she wasn't an insane witch intent on blowing up imaginary friends…

Imaginary friends. Right. Back to the matter at hand—

"Okay. Ohhh-kay. Take deep breaths, Maka. In and out. In and out."

Her outstretched arm quivered slightly as the book was slowly lowered towards the floor. The poor girl's face twisted into a frightened scowl as she attempted to regulate her breathing and _not _acknowledge the two males watching her expectantly. The faint ringing in her ears alerted her that if she didn't calm down soon her brain would most likely overheat and plunge her into darkness again. And Maka Albarn'd be damned if she fainted in front of boys _twice_! Illusions or not, she would never give the opposite sex a reason to pity her or obtain the upper hand.

Minutes passed and eventually a staring contest ensued: Maka vs. Illusion Numero Uno. Or, as she bitterly called him in the deepest part of her subconscious…The Hottest Guy Ever. Aforementioned Hot Guy met Maka's bitter fear-filled glare curiously, lips pressed in a tight line as if on the verge of saying something but thinking better of it. The other equally nice-looking guy beside him watched their stare-down with an expression that initially appeared intrigued but soon morphed into down-right bored.

It was his boredom that caused Maka to lose the staring contest. Her attention was drawn to him when he lazily began picking ear wax out of his ears and flinging it across the room. She was sure her eyes were larger than saucers as she wondered where the fuck _this _incarnation of her mind came from. With her piercing gaze captured elsewhere, the white-haired boy was finally able to find his voice.

"Um…are you, uh, oka-"

However, just because she wasn't looking at him did not mean she wasn't paying attention. Faster than lighting, Maka struck.

**WHAM**

Whitey Tighties sank to the floor with a yowl, both hands covering and feverishly massaging the newest red mark on his person. His blazing crimson eyes sullenly glowered up at her from his hunched position on the ground. He opened his mouth, about to let this violent little girl know _exactly _what he would do to her and her precious literature when she acted as if to hit him again. That shut him up.

"DAH-AH-UH!" Maka growled incoherently, strange disgruntled warbles pouring from her throat. "You can't talk!" Her head snapped back and forth between her two hallucinations. "Neither of you can speak! Technically, _I'm _your creator and I _forbid _you to talk! Especially to me!"

Almost instantaneously the male with the spiky blue-hair jumped up, his face a brighter, sunburnt red than when Maka had elbowed him in the family jewels. His mouth was open in a rather comical, incredulous "O" as though he couldn't decide which words to use but knew he wanted to scream something. His companion released a loud groan before smacking his forehead in exasperation. Ruby red coals peeked between slender fingers and Maka couldn't help but read a sort of "now you've done it" vibe from them.

"You-creator…" Teal-head sucked in a deep breath. "I AM THE ALMIGHTY BLACK STAR! I AM A GOD, YOU PUNY TITLESS PEASANT! NO ONE CREATES OR FORBIDS ME!"

…Holy fuck. This had to be the projection of her id or something…

Still. No one yells at Maka Albarn and gets away with it! Hidden god-complex or not!

**WHAM**

**WHAM**

For the second (and third) time in ten minutes, the startled blonde brought Victor Hugo's masterpiece down onto a skull with a vicious strength that even Thor and his hammer couldn't hope to reproduce. The muscular form crashed to the floor with a whine and, except for the occasional twitch, didn't show any signs of moving for quite some time. Maka appraised her victim critically, pink lips set in a slight pout, all the while ignoring the gaping boy to her right.

"Shoot…I hope that didn't leave a dent in the wood…that bimbo and Papa would be really mad. Then again…illusions can't leave dents, I suppose."

A throat clearing disrupted her scrambled thoughts and, without really thinking about it, she turned to the right and lifted the book high above her head.

"WOAH now!" The remaining illusion cried, arms raised to (hopefully) ward off her attack. "I'm not gonna hurt you! I, well 'we,' just wanted to talk and-"

"Save it!" This was the longest and most frustrating experience with her insanity she had to date and, despite the bravado she projected, Maka was sincerely starting to fear for her mental well-being. She needed to be checked into a hospital for a psych evaluation pronto. "If you don't want to end up like Sonic the Hedgehog here, then I suggest you shut up and leave me alone!"

For a split second, a moment so brief she was sure she had imagined it (although…this whole exchange was pretty much _all _imagined anyways…), the white-haired male looked hurt and disappointed. But before Maka could evaluate what that might mean and why her heart trembled at the sight, his sharp-toothed arrogant grin slammed into place. Smoldering eyes lazily rolled at her theatrics, like a parent dismissing a child's temper tantrum, as he reached down and grabbed the unconscious boy at her feet by the scruff of his neck.

"Tch. Whatever. My mistake."

And then they vanished.

Into thin air.

Before her very eyes.

And Maka ran from the house as if all the demons of Hell were chasing after her.

* * *

Two weeks passed without any exceptionally unusual happenings. The house continued its odd noise-making and Maka continued hearing the sounds while no one else did, but her bedroom no longer pretended to be a sauna.

And obnoxiously handsome boys didn't pop up around corners or appear on her bed or swing on the chandeliers.

Maka was sort of pissed because of that. Which only made her angrier with herself.

How messed up does one get that they actually _miss _the illusions they finally managed to get rid of?

The intelligent female hypothesized it was the cause of their banishment that left her so disgruntled. It wasn't as if she had overcome the obstacle herself and dispelled the nuisances with her own willpower. Oh no. A certain freakish "doctor" had helped.

After her run-in and argument with, not to mention sudden disappearance of, her self-dubbed "imaginary friends" Maka had hightailed it out of Gallows Mansion and headed to Death City Medical Center as quick as her chicken legs could take her. She had arrived flustered and out of breath and demanding for a psych evaluation as soon as possible. The young girl found her distress level sharply elevate after the nurses nonchalantly waved her to a certain room and asked her to "take a seat" and "did she want some water?"

Apparently her assumption that Death City was full of barely sane people was not so far off mark. By the ER staff's reaction, Maka would bet that they heard the words "I think I'm crazy" at least once a week.

And then _he _rolled in…on a _wheely-chair_! How in the world was _that _professional? Not to mention one wheel had caught on the door frame causing Maka to shriek as the so-called doctor was launched off his chair and into her lap. She remembered his only reaction was to languidly get up, dust himself off, and apologize with perhaps the most monotone voice she'd ever heard in her entire life. As though the owner was a robot or something.

His appearance only aided her thoughts of this "doctor" being an android of some sorts. Hadn't she read in a magazine about how far AI had progressed in recent years?

Maybe everything she had experienced in the last couple of months had been a glitch in the Matrix and this was her version of Mr. Smith coming to put her back in place?

He was pretty tall and quite lanky, slightly reminding Maka of her young father. She couldn't quite pinpoint his age though because, despite vibrant gray eyes promising a prodigal youth that flashed behind his "old man" glasses, his hair was a sagely silver color that hinted at a wizened man past his prime. She almost screamed once more when she took note of the hideous stitching that marred half of his face and the…was that a screw protruding from his head?!

With a bored expression the "doctor" tiredly introduced himself as "Dr. Stein." He asked a few brief questions, such as "where do you live" and "how old are you, and then, without a hint of emotion, pointedly wondered why she was wasting his time. Maka's already rattled emotions and thinned self-control almost made her lose her cool and start shouting in his face for being creepy, unprofessional, _and_ dismissing her so easily. Almost. But Maka had always been taught to respect her elders and she intended to be polite and restrained with this adult as she was with all others (minus her Papa, of course). Somehow she managed to calm down long enough to explain she was concerned she was having a mental breakdown.

Or start to explain. Before she could fully spit the word "crazy" out, Dr. Stein had hurriedly proclaimed she was fine and that he didn't need "punk-ass teenagers" (his exact words!) taking up valuable experimentation/patient time. His parting words sent shivers down her spine. With what she was sure was an uncharacteristically bright, welcoming smile, he said,

"And if I so much as see you again, I will cut open your head, examine the pitiful contents, and make you do the hokey-pokey against your will. Have a nice day, Ms. Albarn!"

Maka left the hospital swearing she'd _never _go back to that rude, insensitive, negligent, insane, freaky-looking doctor _ever _again! It was like the blind leading the fucking blind around here! Everyone was crazy, including the medical advisors!

Maybe there was something in the water…

Time to invest in some fucking Aquafina.

Nonetheless whether by rage or by fear, Maka figured she banished her illusions from her conscious mind to prevent herself from coming face to scar with that horrid doctor any time soon.

She didn't want to admit it, but she was beginning to feel rather…depressed. And lonely. A dangerous feeling for sure since the last time loneliness struck it brought two not-teenage boys to her house.

To an extent, her failed teenage social life was her fault. She wasn't exactly a "social butterfly," usually only opening her mouth in order to correct a teacher or answer a question, and she knew she didn't gain any brownie points by skirting off to the library every free chance she got or by reading books in the lunch line. But that didn't excuse the fact that the entire population of Shibusen Academy ignored her and avoided her like the social pariah she was. If one could have a personality with leprosy, Maka Albarn would be that one.

All except for Tsubaki Nakatsukasa and Elizabeth Thompson. The (coincidentally) Academy's Golden Girls.

For some odd reason, those two never let her alone.

Day in and day out, she would be approached by one or the other or, Lord have mercy on her soul, both. Usually it was the Thompson girl as Tsubaki, to Maka's eternal surprise, happened to be a grade younger than them.

Elizabeth, or Liz as she liked to be called (she gave the cold shoulder to anyone who dared to speak her full name), was an interesting character. She was equally as gorgeous as her best friend with her perfect honey-gold tresses always in that constant movie-star wavy stage along with her Marilyn Monroe physique and shimmery sapphire "baby-doll" eyes. But, on a couple of rare occasions, Maka would catch a glimpse of a bitter frostiness hiding behind her simple valley-girl façade. After taking notice of this, Maka couldn't help but associate Elizabeth Thompson with diamonds—they sparkle in sunlight and shine every which way you turn them, but try and crush them and you'll discover just how strong they truly are.

And she, like Tsubaki had at first, reminded Maka of whispering notes only heard in dreams, of sharp teeth arranged into a careful halfway smirk and a figure clothed in a charcoal pin-striped suit…and that agonizingly fervid shade of pure, volatile _red_…

Whenever those two were around, Maka's perception of loneliness took a full 180. She couldn't help but think that maybe it was best for her to be separated from people…or from them at least.

Something wasn't quite right with Death City and Gallows Mansion and photo-shoot ready girls who were nice to the newest nerd…that much she knew. But she didn't find out how right she was until the day Liz accompanied her to the library.

"Makaaaaaaaa, do we have tooooo?"

Liz Thompson seemed to speak in either one of two ways: a perpetual, spoiled rich girl whine (usually reserved for asking questions or getting out of trouble) or a bubbly, chipper dialect that only dolphins and cheerleaders could effectively mimic (usually used to persuade someone of the male variety to do something).

Maka guessed today was a whiny day.

The ashy blonde could never quite figure out how she felt towards Liz. On the one hand, she had the ability to be ten times more annoying than Tsubaki because of her constant drama queen display. But on the other…Maka knew that behind the little princess spiel, a tough, intelligent female resided. A girl as smart as, if not smarter, than her. This was probably why she hadn't socked her in her pretty manipulative face yet. Maka was lucky that years with her deplorable father had left her patient and tolerant with the average person.

"No one's forcing you to come, Liz. I have a report due next week and I'd rather get it over with as soon as possible. Besides, we have the same BritLit teacher, don't we? That means you have the same paper to write as me, so I don't see why you're complaining. We can just get it done together."

"As if. That's easy for you to say. You're like…smart and shit." The taller blonde tossed some hair over her shoulder as they passed by a group of jocks and smiled when they practically drooled at her wave. "I'll just…politely ask Kilik to do it for me."

Maka bit her lip to prevent herself from yelling in her ire. Patience and tolerance for the _average _person sure…but patience enough for Liz…that was an amount only God could handle.

"Yeah, well, you do that. Me? I'm going to the library to do my own work."

Liz grinned, easily recognizing the shorter girl's frustration and doing everything in her power to exploit it. Goading Maka was too easy and too much fun…just like a little bird had told her. But, instead of seeing how far her luck would go this time, she heaved the loudest, saddest sigh she could muster and jutted out her upper lip.

"Fiiiiiiiiiiine. But do tryyyyyy and hurry. Pleaseeeee?"

"Damn it, Liz! Quit with the whining! You're about to graduate high school, not pre-K!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

The library was relatively empty as per usual and Maka couldn't help the satisfied smile that bloomed like a flower greeting the sun. She had to restrain herself from skipping to her table hidden amongst the tallest, most packed bookshelves in the back. Even Liz's melancholic aura couldn't stop her from relaxing, even if just a tad, in the comforting maze of print and paper.

She was thirty minutes into her assignment when Liz began to tap her shoulder with what was surely a false pretense of urgency. Nonetheless, Maka slowly pushed her materials away and turned to face the bouncing ball of blonde bosom beauty (hah, alliteration) beside her. Liz not bothering someone for five minutes was unheard of (so thirty minutes was practically a ground-breaking record) and Maka figured she could spare a break and entertain her "friend."

Not that she would let her work time go quietly.

"What is it, Liz?"

"Okay, so I was thinking that, even though we're in this disgustingly, horrid place—seriously, Maka, I don't understand what you like about it in here; it's all dark and dank and not to mention bore-to the-ing, but anyways I was thinking-"

"That's a shocker. Should I alert the media?" Liz paused mid-sentence to give Maka a petulant, halfhearted glare.

"Calm on, Maka. I'm trying to tell you something _cool _here! I know it's hard for you to realize when something's cool or not, which is precisely why Tsubaki and I were put on this Earth, I swear to God, because you can't tell when something's cool even when it bites you on the freaking ass-"

"Have you ever tried taking a pretty little pill called Ritalin? I'm pretty sure that would be cool. 'Least I think it would be."

"Oh, shut up and listen will you! Anyways, so even though _your _idea of a 'good' way to spend a break is to hole up and read about dead people…or whatever it is you do in here…a _real_ good time would be to-"

"No, no, you're right. You're so all over the place you'd definitely need a spoonful of Adderall. Every hour, on the hour." Without the barest hint of a warning, Liz slapped a hand over Maka's mouth and proceeded informing her what was deemed "truly" important.

That was another thing with Liz—personal boundaries were pretty much nonexistent.

"As I was saying before _someone_ so _rudely _interrupted…we should go do the only actual cool thing there is to do in the library! Huh! What do you say?"

"I say that the next time you touch me without my permission, you're gonna lose a hand!"

And her mother couldn't figure out why she didn't have many friends growing up…

Liz easily waved off Maka's threat, which merely did nothing but further enraged her, before she grabbed a bony wrist and forcefully removed her from her seat. She quickly dragged the sputtering pigtailed teenager to her intended destination as fast as she could, knowing that the moment Maka caught her breath there would be a verbal lashing awaiting her. However, as Liz had hoped, she forgot her fury in her following confusion when Liz eagerly gestured…at a blank wall. Maka's head unconsciously cocked to the side as she surveyed the ecstatic beauty and the emptiness she proudly extended her arms towards.

Honestly, in Maka's eyes, Liz acted like she was practicing her future audition as a show girl on the Price Is Right. Or was it Wheel of Fortune she longed to be on…? Liz swore one paid better than the other.

"...I'm afraid to ask, but, um…what are we doing here, Liz?"

Her answer was to smile with the radiance of sunlight, a talent Maka would forever envy, as she tapped a somewhat inconspicuous knot along the wood paneling of the wall. There was a fairly inaudible groan, the sound of old things grinding together, and Maka felt the carpet underneath her feet _vibrate_.

And a rectangular block of wall fell inwards…like a cookie cutter shape of a door.

An unseen trap door.

Maka could do nothing but stand and gawk at Liz's proud, smug smile. It took quite a bit nowadays (what with her recent loss and regain of reality) to take her by surprise, but this…this was another level altogether.

A rubber band snapped back in place and suddenly the only thing running through Maka's head was that this building used to be a questionable mental asylum. And wasn't that how every Hollywood movie went? Old hospitals that housed patients of the psychiatric variety harbored secret rooms where quack doctors conducted heinous experiments for the "sake of science?"

Shit. And Liz was just _going in_.

"Liz!" Maka half-whispered, half-squeaked. "Liz! What are we doing? What are _you _doing? What…what is," The spooked girl gesticulated wildly at the dark abyss unlocked behind the once pristine white, sagging wall, "_this_?" Liz shrugged, the picture of ease and blasé countenance, though Maka caught her gemstone eyes flashing with challenges and expectations.

"It's a secret room, of course. Standard issue in loony bins, you know. The school staff know where the other two are…but _this _one Pa-…well this one I found all on my own. Only…only Tsubaki and I, and now you, know that there's one in the library. I figured that if we were gonna spend time in the library, since you like it and all, we might as well hang out somewhere _really _secluded and, well, decently cool."

And, somehow, as was Elizabeth Thompson's way of winning no matter time, place, or subject, Liz's soft admonition and sweet, sincere smile shocked Maka more than the discovery that a wooden knob created a hole in the library wall.

Not that her actually kind, inclusive idea meant Maka was ready to go waltzing into a hidden laboratory or…whatever it was! Rule-keeper that Maka was she fidgeted from foot to foot and nervously searched for any concealed cameras or spying persons; if they were caught…well, who knew what trouble they would be in for not telling someone about the uncharted room. Liz, by this point in life, held no such qualms and with a delicate, refined shrug of her shoulders proceeded into the dark tunnel knowing the smaller girl would go after her, if only because she didn't want to appear weaker…and because Maka was notoriously curious.

The dark hallway or tunnel or whatever it was steadily declined the farther they went and Maka all the while continuously tried to forget about how close the walls were. There wasn't enough room for her and Liz to walk side by side, even though neither of them were "large" by any means, which left them walking one in front of the other. Liz was the leader and every few seconds assured Maka that only the entranceway was dark, but that the room ahead had lights and a ceiling fan (and a fridge!) that worked just fine.

What had to have been around a minute later (though Maka inwardly swore it was at least five minutes of bone-chilling, _wrong_ darkness), the walls widened and fell away to the sides, creating an open space.

They had reached the room.

With the ease of someone who visited a place often enough to know it well, Liz flicked on the light switch.

It was smaller than she anticipated, actually quite cramped, especially with the Kenmore fridge and metal filing cabinet taking up an entire wall. Add in the desk and dusty bookshelf taking up the _other _wall and Maka thought the only creatures that would be comfortable in here were sardines. And that was pushing it.

But what bothered her most was how it held this undefinable, malevolent "used" aura, which caused her to ponder whose office this once belonged to. A doctor's? A guard's? A lobotomist's? Someone with power…of that, she was certain.

The air was too thick and heavy in here.

Something was wrong. Or, at least, something wasn't _right_.

"Want a soda?"

Maka practically shot ten feet into the air, too lost in her morbid thoughts to notice Liz opening the fridge (already packed full of every junk food and soda flavor imaginable) and offering her a drink.

"Um…no thanks. I'm not thirsty…right now…" Liz did another one of her infamous "whatever" shrugs and easily took a swig of Dr. Pepper while arranging herself somewhat seductively on the desk. She was doing her best to act comfortable and at home, being the way Liz just normally was…but Maka noticed how her eyes were clear and alert and didn't stray very far from her…almost as if she were waiting for something…

Soon enough, whether because she got bored of studying every teeny tiny move Maka made or because she wanted Maka to think she had stopped watching her, the lovely blonde began to peruse a _Seventeen _magazine that the pigtailed girl assumed was stashed down here for times like these. Much like the soda and food in the refrigerator.

Since Liz had taken to sitting on the desk, Maka wandered over to the file cabinet, glancing at some pages that littered the floor with mild interest. She was about to risk opening one of the drawers due to her curiosity quite literally _burning _her from the inside out, Liz watching her or not, before one of the crinkled papers underfoot caught her attention. It was faded and old, black ink turning gray, but she recognized the basic shape. The outline, that was what got her.

It was a picture of her house. A picture of Gallows Mansion.

For whatever reason, goose bumps climbed up and down her spine. The temperature declined to almost frigid, Antarctic levels. She didn't want Liz to know what she had found. She didn't want anyone to know.

_Something wasn't right here._

Peering out of her peripheral, Maka saw Liz still religiously pouring over the glossy celeb-filled pages, eyes entranced at whatever gossip or rumor or information it promised readers they would want to know. She was the poster girl of "distracted" and "without a care."

Which for some reason made Maka worry all the more. And pissed her off.

How dare someone try and dupe _her_?

She would not be outsmarted by some strange, small-town picture-perfect heiress who seemed to be a tad too fascinated with her! It would be a cold day in hell before _that _happened!

So she pretended she was working on the top drawer of the filing cabinet—the one that was honestly, truly locked tight. Maka dug her heels into the ground and pulled with all her might, making a big deal of groaning and huffing and puffing.

"You're never gonna get that open, you know."

Ah. So the bitch _was _spying! Just as she suspected! Maka Albarn-1, Liz Thompson-zip.

"Well," Grunt. "I'm gonna," Wheeze. "Try!"

And she continued to heave and ho at the stubborn shut drawer…while her feet carefully unfolded the piece of paper on the floor and smoothed it as best as she could with her periodic, "infuriated" stomps. Eventually, when Maka thought her distraction had lasted long enough and the paper was as flat and readable as it would ever be, she acted out of breath and tiredly slumped against the file cabinet, leaning her head down in "frustration."

Her eyes were at the perfect angle to make out the words atop the picture of Gallows Mansion. The familiar placement of large letters across the top, picture in the middle, and smaller words arranged into neat columns at the bottom clued her into the fact that what she was looking at was no doubt the front page of a newspaper.

She had to squint a little bit to make out the dull lettering, but when she finally understood what she was reading, her heart jumped into overdrive. Like a hummingbird on fucking steroids.

**EVANS MANOR DEAD IN A NIGHT? KILLER UNKNOWN! LONE SURVIVOR TO BE SENT TO GALLOWS LUNATIC ASYLUM!**

* * *

**Encore: **...And if you hate me and you know it clap your hands, *clap clap*. So...yeah. Episode 02 of We Are the Dead folks! Hope you're enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it. We were briefly introduced to not one but TWO new important characters that you'll want to keep your eyes on! By the way, can I express how much fun Liz is going to be in this story? Like...I love her. And I hope you love her, too. Like we love violent, book-swinging sarcastic Maka, right?

And sexy "ghost" Soul, eh? ;) Anyways, review if it pleases you, follow if you want to read more! PM me if you have any questions (or you know, if you're bored or somethin')!

Finally, I would like to say that if I ever offend anyone, I do not mean to. I haven't gotten any hate mail or anything like that, but it dawned on me that I hadn't said anything like that...typically when I write about something I usually have personal experience with the area. For instance, mental disorders is right up my alley. I won't say more, but I would like to say that if anyone gets upset by my caustic, joking manner, I am truly sorry. I do not mean offense. Love everyone, love you all.

**Replies:**

**To Nojiko0: **I hope it's not bad that she's schizophrenic with perverted hallucinations...I'd be in trouble now wouldn't I? XD However, you are totally welcome to publish "Proper Interaction with your illusions" so long as you promise to send me a free copy! And I am so glad that you think this is worth your time! I know that, whether or not it is "worth" my time, it certainly consumes my time. Wouldn't trade this story for the world though. It is a wonderful release and I hope that it continues to be worth your time.

**To someone thats not here: **Sorry the update took so long :( but I'm glad you think this is funny and awesome! Seriously warms my heart! My friends don't believe me when I tell them people on the Internet think I'm funny! (Mainly cause I tell really poor jokes and no one gets my sarcastic comments...) Anyways, hope this episode brought you a couple laughs (or at least _a _laugh).

**To BlueMonkeyDoll: **AAAAHHH! YOU LOVE MY STORY! ALREADY? *blushes* Thank you! I am sorry about the poor updates (really, brain, can't we write faster anymore? These people are depending on us!). But I hope that this episode is as "sick" as the rest of the story has been so far. Also, just curious, but your avatar looks pretty cool...is it Kid and Maka perchance? I may be a Soul Eater junkie and therefore seeing things, but yeah...I was curious...Love you, by the way.

**To GigiandMad: **Slyly hiding details...me? Heh, I don't know what you're talking about, heh...And hell, yes, the suit makes everything better! I referenced it in this episode, too, see, see? ;) I can't say anything about the ghosties here...that's no fun, right? But I am interested in seeing if any of your theories end up actually being what I have planned. Muahahaha. We shall see, hmm? And just cause life is so sporadic right now I'm going to go ahead and just do what I want to do when I want to do it instead of figuring out beta-reading stuff. Maybe if this was a more serious story like A Pair of Souls, but...nahh. This is for fun and joy and kicks and giggles. It can have some errors. Just promise to point out anything too terrible, alright?

**NEXT TIME ON WE ARE THE DEAD: **

-Episode 03-

When Shit Hits the Fan, Don't Just Stand There! Throw Some F***ing TicTacs!


	4. Episode 03

**Author's Note: **This is what happens when a nerd like me acquires a social life. Wednesday becomes Monday I am sorry. Also, this is pretty long (not sure if future episodes will follow this trend or not), in fact, I almost cut it in half, but decided against it. I also cut a lot out but wanted to keep a lot of what may be deemed "unnecessary interactions" to help involve and express some characters. So...yeah the initial exchange is kind of serious for this comedic fanfic, but I plan on involving some moments like that. Hope you all enjoy! Replies to reviews will be at the bottom. Also, I'm trying to keep characters relatively canon, but I am imperfect so I apologize for that in advance, too! XD

**Disclaimer: **I'm running on fumes here...so maybe something will be creative next time! Soul Eater is not mine (and neither is TicTacs, Set Fire To The Rain, Journey to the Center of the Earth, the Titanic, Nancy Drew, Resident Evil: Apocalypse, Google, Catch Me If You Can, Monster, Lucky Charms, Benadryl, Bruce Willis, Lost, Altoids, or Usain Bolt)

* * *

-Episode 03-

When Shit Hits the Fan, Don't Just Stand There! Throw Some F***ing TicTacs!

* * *

"Maka, my adorable, _beautiful_ dumpa-ling! How was school today, pumkin?"

Her father's sickly sweet inquiry rang loudly in the expansive dining hall, the slight echo of _pumkin pumkin pumkin_ only further illustrating how empty the table was with just the two of them. She knew it wasn't true, but she felt like that dreary, vacant space would easily have been filled if her mother had been present. Or at the very least it wouldn't have been quite as noticeable.

"Fine."

Maka didn't dare glance up from her plate, who knew what her expression showcased considering all the things buzzing through her mind lately, but she could guess from the barest twinge in his voice that her father was most likely frowning.

"Oh, well that's good…" But then his chipper, annoyingly-perpetual happy voice cried out, "I bet you're the smartest in the whole school, right baby! Ah! To think I still remember you running around in your itty-bitty wittle girl bwoomers-"

"Papa." She interjected as fast as possible, hoping to prevent a sudden onslaught of strangling hugs and wet eyes and that gosh darn, _awful _baby talk her Papa normally showered her with. "Um…I think I have some homework to do. So, um, I'm gonna be excused now."

This time she did direct her eyes in his direction and saw, with an inkling of guilt swimming in her stomach, his face crumple at her hasty retreat. He had been rather busy with work lately (or that was his alibi anyway) and this was the first time in almost two weeks they had sat down to dinner together. But Maka didn't want to deal with her father's boisterous, coddling personality tonight, not with that headline still glaringly present in her mind.

She couldn't forget it. No matter how hard she tried. It had been three days and she continued to see the picture of Gallows Mansion and the gruesome words above it parade across her eyelids just before she fell asleep…and then she'd wake up in a cold sweat at the ungodly hour of 4:15 a.m. with a haunting melody and eerie screams ringing in her ears…

"Well…that's fine, I suppose…but, Maka dear, you've hardly eaten. How about you at least take a couple of bites before you leave, hmm?"

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry." She made to stand up when she noticed the change in Spirit Albarn's posture. He stood up straighter, shoulders back and spine upright, and folded his hands neatly, one over the other. His sky blue eyes focused on his young daughter's half-folded form with an intensity that she could only recall seeing maybe a total of three times in all of her seventeen years.

Uh oh. Was her Papa trying to be…serious?

"Maka-kinz, " Not the greatest start to an honest conversation so there was a decent chance she would get out of whatever-this-was alive, "I understand yo-ehem, we, are still adjusting to…here, but…I'm starting to worry about you, sweetheart. I know you're Papa's (and here he reverted briefly back to his more natural, goofy tone) wittle independent woo-man (and then back to serious), but you haven't been doing…much. You haven't brought one friend over, haven't gone out, or done _anything _and, Maka darling, that's not quite like you-"

"I'm fine, Papa. Can I go now?"

She knew she was being unfair to an extent, but the idea of him _worrying _about her set fire to her rain faster than if he had drenched her in gasoline. In a way, this was his entire fault. He had absolutely no right to tell her if she was herself or not! And he damn sure didn't get to _worry _about her!

For a moment she thought she had won—his eyes clouded over, his lip jutted out exactly like a toddler's did right before they collapsed into crocodile tears, and his "fatherly" posture drooped until his shoulders were practically resting on the table. But the second she officially stood up it was as if he snapped himself back into place. All the sudden he looked as any normal concerned parent would with his no-nonsense frown and "we're gonna talk whether you like it or not, missy" vibe. Maka struggled with keeping her mouth from crashing through the floor and through the basement and taking a journey to the center of the Earth.

"Maka, if you would please let me finish what I was saying before interrupting I would appreciate it. As I was saying, I don't think you're acting quite like yourself, dear. If you need something, then please come to me at any time and ask, but this reclusive, defensive behavior needs to stop. I'm concerned that you'll-"

"Acting like myself? Defensive? _Come to you at any time_?" Her voice was strangled and keyed up; it sounded more like she had been drinking liquefied helium instead of water for dinner.

And before she knew it, Maka's repressed frustration was released in an explosive display of yelling and teenage angst. Like someone had opened up Pandora's Box: Teenage Girl Edition.

"You don't get to say whether I'm acting like myself or not! You don't get to call me defensive or reclusive or _anything_! Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be here? In this town or in this house or here with you? Did you ever pause to consider that maybe you and your disgusting adulterous ways and every whore that you bed for a night was the cause of all my problems? And how dare you say I can come to you at any time when you're _hardly _ever home!"

"Ma…Maka, sweetie," He was flabbergasted. She could see it in the few wrinkles he sported in his relatively young face, see it in his impossibly wide eyes that reminded her more of a child than of a man, much less a father. "Papa's sorry he's been so busy lately and missing daddy-daughter time, but this new job is-it's very time-consuming and I don't mean to leave you here alone, but you know Papa loves yo-"

"Don't you say it!" She screamed. "Don't you _dare _say it! How many times have I heard 'you know Papa loves you and Mama very much' and then you just go off and sleep with the next tight ass that walks by!"

"Maka! I-"

"Oh, I'm sure your work is oh, _so_ 'time-consuming,' but that's probably cause you stay overtime to bang your gorgeous secretary like last time, isn't it, Papa? And, by the way, that realtor called the other day while you were at 'work' and I bet you can't wait to fuck her, too-"

"_Maka Marie Albarn_! That is _enough_!"

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible **click **and a silence the likes of which she'd never felt (and never imagined to feel) fell over her and the red-headed dork she called "Papa." Interaction with her and her father had always been superficially based—their relationship consisted of games and smothering and gifts and obnoxious displays of affection. Therefore, Maka Albarn was surprised to learn that her father could yell at her…mainly because he had never done so before. It occurred to her in that stillness that her Mama had been the disciplinary figure throughout her life…and now that Kami was MIA, it seemed Spirit was attempting to play both silly, man-whore dad and constant, ever-watchful mom.

Spirit was a young, handsome man by all rights. His lean, muscled frame and unblemished face left him forever in a constant state of appearing as either a lanky, high-school adolescent or a charming, boyish college student. He had aged so gracefully that there were a couple of unmentionable, died-from-embarrassment occasions where he had been mistaken as his own daughter's boyfriend instead of her father.

And so it froze Maka to the core to see him like this—so battered…so old.

"Maka…I'm trying." He heaved a heavy, spirit-crushing sigh, a sigh so great that it should have lightened whatever load he was carrying. For whatever reason though, Maka only saw her father look smaller and more despaired. "I really am. I know things have been difficult for you lately…and this is not how I wanted things to be. Your mother and I…we wanted to stay together until you went off to university, but things, well…things happen, Maka. Even grown-ups aren't perfect, as I'm sure you, as a young adult, will learn soon enough. I…I know you don't want to be here, Maka. I'm not smart, but I'm not completely stupid. I know that, had Kami stayed in the States, you would have wanted to live with her and leave me behind. I'm sorry she left us, especially you. I truly am. But, we have to make do. Yes, I have realized I have a problem and, yes, I realize that my problem has created some of yours…but you were always one to make the best of things, Maka. And I guess I expected you to do that here, too."

Spirit's uncharacteristically calm demeanor and somewhat wise, parental words held Maka there for a while. A part of her understood her father's plight—an insatiable desire for women (well, she didn't get _that _part), a desire to be a father and a husband, a desire to provide and be a good businessman and how all that just couldn't balance properly. Somewhere under her stubborn anger and iron defenses, Maka knew her father meant it when he said he loved her…and knew that there was even a sliver of truth when he said he loved her mother, too, but the majority couldn't accept his infidelity and absence that easy. This was the first of what she felt might be numerous sincere apologies…but for now this wasn't enough.

Her father's freshly spoken words did not change the fact that her parents were divorced. They did not change the fact that they had moved across the country to settle in Death City.

And they did not change the fact that they lived in a house once full of dead people.

* * *

Maka thought that she would have gotten used to everything by her third month in Death City, but that was definitely not the case. How could she when each week was accompanied with some life-altering surprise?

This week's was the worse, though—

**EVANS MANOR DEAD IN A NIGHT? KILLER UNKNOWN! LONE SURVIVOR TO BE SENT TO GALLOWS LUNATIC ASYLUM!**

No wonder the house had been so damn cheap…and for probably the seven hundred eighty second time since purchasing Gallows Mansion she mentally pictured herself waving an upraised middle finger at that catty saleswoman with her bulbous boobs and wide hips and extravagant purple dye job!

But in this economy she supposed everyone needed to do whatever they could to make ends meet…even if that meant selling old crime scenes to the newbies in town.

And Maka's stubborn investigative nature wouldn't let things alone! All day, every day she thought about the headline and the picture and what it all meant. She had tried the city library, spent hours, in fact, rifling through stacks and stacks of old newspapers, without any avail. The closest she got to finding anything even _remotely _relative or interesting was a newspaper dated in 1967 that proclaimed a family of world famous musicians, the Evans, had settled into one of the oldest mansions in Death City. The house soon became known as Evans Manor, in lieu of its prestigious occupants, and it briefly mentioned the family: there was Laerence Evans, his wife, Eira Evans, and then two sons, Weston and Soul Evans.

There were no pictures.

A couple of papers after that boasted advertisements where the Evans apparently performed in nearby towns or concert halls or even hosted some awesome, rich-person party at Evans Manor (everything sounding especially couture and _je ne sais quoi_ and fancy and what not). And then…nothing.

After the year 1972, there was no other mention of the Evans. At all. In fact, there were barely _any_ newspapers for the years '73 and '74.

At first Maka wondered if she mixed something up or misplaced a stack (there _were _a bunch of newspapers to go over after all), but she later discovered that no, she had it right. There were, by her count, only five newspapers for the year '73 and four for '74.

And none mentioned Evans.

Her hopes were almost restored when she found that one of the newspapers from September of 1974 had an article discussing the recently closed Gallows Lunatic Asylum, but nothing major came out of it. It was unfortunately very short and mentioned in passing (the subject of the article was actually about some wildlife activists asking to tear down old buildings for whatever reason) and by this time it had been shut down roughly two months prior. And then there was the January of 1975 newspaper which sported an article that Gallows Mansion (when did its name become that?) was back on the market despite the devastating tragedy that occurred there.

Tragedy. One word. With absolutely no information what so ever.

The whole thing gave Maka the chills. Where were the other newspapers? Why didn't _any _mention the murders or the Evans or the closing of the mental institution in detail? Where was the copy of the newspaper that she had seen in the secret room at Shibusen? What hadhappened here in Death City? And, worse still, Maka couldn't help but wonder if something was _going_ on…what with all the recent murders…

What if the unknown killer of Evans Manor was like a serial killer or something...dormant for years only to suddenly go on spree again…

And why was _she_, a high schooler, the only one looking into all of this?!

But, then again...maybe that wasn't necessarily true. What was it Tsubaki said?

_You are looking into the recent Death City accidents! That is interesting. Especially since you live at Gallows Mansion and all. Personally, I think they are a serial killer, though perhaps I am biased. My father is one of the investigators looking into the case and he suspects that there is a pattern and profile somewhere to be found. However, I must say our school paper is not exactly the most…credible of sources if one is actually curious about the topic._

And inspiration hit the inquisitive blonde like a freight train to the face.

The next day would forever be remembered by Maka Albarn as the day her old life ended…and her new one began.

Since her "adoption," as many laughingly referred to it, by Liz and Tsubaki, Maka's social experience at Shibusen had changed drastically. In fact, it was a miracle if she got to spend _any _time alone in the library anymore. Lunch time, according to Liz, was "people time" or "Maka-you-should-spend-time-with-your-own-species time" and the table where she once sat quiet, reading, and alone was now filled with laughter, jokes, and so many other bodies that Maka sometimes felt claustrophobic.

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

However, though her rising teenage posse did aid in distracting her mind from the haunting, bone-chilled feeling she seemed to carry with her everywhere lately, it did prove difficult to find a time to talk mano-a-mano with Tsubaki.

What was the saying again? Beggars can't be choosers?

Maka was almost a hundred percent sure it was a rich person who said that.

Thankfully, she didn't really have to work out a plan or make a fool of herself attempting to lie (Maka was a notoriously poor fibber) or beg or choose because luck was on her side that day. Luck being a reference to Kim I-Want-To-Be-A-Journalist-So-I-Make-It-My-Business -To-Know-The-News-Twenty-Four-Seven Diehl and Jacqueline I-Hate-Being-In-The-Dark-About-Stuff-So-I-Make-Sur e-To-Shine-A-Light-On-Everything Dupre.

Kim and Jacqueline were inseparable friends that Maka was actually quite happy to have met. Despite her ostentatious bubble-gum pink hair color, Kim had this uncanny ability to find out pretty much anything necessary, a skill that Maka heavily admired. She was a girl that provided spurring debates and original thoughts that usually left the pigtailed blonde considering new possibilities on subjects she thought she had known all there was to know about. Normally, this would have made her defensive, but Kim wasn't one to shove her intellect in another's face. In fact, on the contrary, she seemed to go back and forth between being a battle-ready journalist to an average sweet, free-spirited girl. Jacqueline was much the same if not a tad bit quieter and a good deal more perceptive in matters of detail. Together, the girls could catalogue and remember just about _any _rumor, falsehood, fact, or story in Shibusen.

And with the recent "murders" as they had finally officially been ruled, their archive of interests started to expand from their peers at Shibusen Academy to the entirety of Death City.

"Come _on_, Tsu! I _know _you've overheard _something _from your dad about all of this craziness going on! Spill! At least a little…"

Guess what just so happened to be that day's lunch table topic of conversation. A hint: it involved the Diehl/Dupre version of the Spanish Inquisition.

"Kim, you know that I am unable to discuss details about any investigation my father is working on. Actually, my father is not supposed to mention anything of his work to me at all. I am afraid that I only know the same amount as you, or anyone else, does."

Tusbaki fidgeted slightly in her seat, blue eyes wide like porthole windows on a ship capturing a circle of the ocean and sky. She had been quite jumpy all day, though that could simply be because Kim or Jacqueline (usually both) had been popping up with question after question. Maka had eagerly tagged along, hoping to learn something she could use in her own private inquiry of Death City, but eventually she decided to step in on her poor companion's behalf every now and then. Tsubaki was much too sweet to tell Kim and Jacqueline to back off.

Thankfully, she was the best friend of one Liz Thompson, who had no such reservations.

"Kim, can you please shut the fucking front door about the whole murder stuff for a bit? I mean seriously. Morbid, much?" She bitterly complained as she took a bite of her Caesar salad, crunching angrily and loudly as if to emphasize her "drop it" point. Kim merely rolled her eyes in exasperation and gave a huge, dramatic heartbroken sigh while Jacqueline snorted.

"Liz, I think the basic idea behind the phrase 'shut the front door' is so one doesn't cuss."

This caused said girl to pause mid-chew and think about that for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders in a clear "I don't care" manner. Kim all but growled in her aggravation.

"Just because _you _aren't interested in anything that doesn't touch the topic of boys, shopping, clothes, and nail polish doesn't mean that other people aren't! Kilik and Harvar want to know about this stuff, too, ya know! Right, guys?" And here she pointedly glared at the two males who were unlucky enough to be within elbowing distance. Kilik scratched his head nervously, a chagrined smile in place, as Harvar calmly continued sucking what sounded like air through his straw.

"Well, I mean…yeah, it's kinda interesting, but…well…hey, Maka! Weren't we supposed to do something in the library today, right?" He helplessly threw a "save me now" glance in her direction.

Sadly, for him, Maka was too invested in the conversation to notice his wordless plea.

"Um…no? I don't think so…" Her eyebrows crinkled as she mentally went through all the assignments she needed the library for and how many involved Kilik before she met his expectant gaze and shook her head firmly. "I think you mean next Monday."

His response was to moan and slam his head on the table.

At his breezy attitude and pathetic attempt at not getting in the middle of two very lovely girls, Kim rolled her eyes once more and waved Kilik and the non-responsive Harvar off to the side, letting them off the hook. Her opponent raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the sign, knowing that her argument was sinking faster than the Titanic.

"See? No one wants to discuss it, Nancy Drew. Do your own damn research and stop pestering Tsubaki about it."

"That's not completely true! I mean…uh…" The lively girl turned to Jacqueline for assistance and got more than she bargained for when her partner in crime jerked her head towards the approaching Ox Ford. She took a deep breath and Maka watched her internal struggle over whether or not riling Ox up was worth the conversation or not flit across her puffed up cheeks.

"Ford wants to talk about this stuff, too!"

Apparently, it was.

In about two point six seconds, Ox was suddenly shoving himself between Kim and Jacqueline on the bench, eagerly inquiring as to what his "dearest, most precious Kim" desired of him.

Maka never could quite get over the strange arrangement of friends she currently possessed, especially the fact that a good portion of them were boys. With a cheating father as the only male role model in her life, she usually took an instant dislike to anything with a penis. But, for whatever reason, she actually got along quite well with Kilik and Harvar. Ox, however…

She wasn't sure what aspect of him grated on her nerves so much. Perhaps it was the fact that Ox Ford was actually intelligent and therefore forced Maka to work extra hard to secure and maintain her top dog position in the senior class. Their relationship was ignoring each other at best and verbal abuse at worst. Days where Maka or Ox had tests were especially difficult for the group as either one of them (though usually both) would viciously attempt to cut down the other the entire lunch period.

But if Maka was being completely honest, the most probable reason for her dislike of Ox Ford was the fact that he tended to turn into what her mind classified as "a wannabe Spirit." The moment anyone mentioned "Kim" and it was like his personality underwent a reverse vampire transformation. One second, he was quiet, stern, logical, and honestly he had to have light issues since he wore those darn sunglasses all the time! Then, oh-the-fucking-horror! He would run around, screeching about love and how beautiful she was and bowing at her feet.

Frankly, it made Maka sick.

Kim Diehl didn't seem too fond of it either, ironically, but from what the pigtailed girl could tell she harbored some feelings for the odd boy; she just hadn't decided on whether they were feelings of "I want to kill you" or "I kind of like you."

The ash blonde shrugged to herself and supposed time would tell eventually. Until then, Ox's amorous affections were found useful when Kim needed another vote on her side or an extra hand to assist with whatever. Their utilizations were few and far between as she really didn't want to _use _him or _lead him on _or whatnot.

"Only under special circumstances!" She had once refuted to Jacqueline's claim of "always depending on him." And this instance apparently fell under such circumstances.

"Tell Tsubaki and Liz that you're interested in the Death City murders since _someone_," She threw an angry stare in Liz's direction, "doesn't think they're worth talking about."

_Snap_. Suddenly, Ox Ford the serious vampire/studious inquirer came back to life. His lips were pressed tightly together and his forehead caved in on itself, an expression of deep thinking that Maka, his competitor, recognized immediately. Kim's decision to involve Ox, though halfhearted and only as an attempt to beat Liz's insistence of dropping the subject, worked much better than she initially expected.

"Ah. The Death City murders are an interesting topic. I would have to agree with Kim on this one. The body count is up to nine, I believe. Apparently a lesser amount is not enough evidence to call 'accidents' murders, but, well, the police do the best they can, don't they?" He scratched the edge of one hairpiece thingy before tilting his head in the nervous Tsubaki's direction. "Speaking of the police, if I recall correctly, and I assure you I do, your father is on the investigative team for the murders, right, Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki's brow furrowed at Ox's intense, persistent tone and implicative statement as though hurriedly wracking her brain for another, any-other, subject that would direct everyone's attention away from her father and the murder investigation. She eventually exhaled and dropped her usual proud stature by slumping her shoulders, admitting her defeat on distracting them from asking twenty plus questions. The others excitedly prepared themselves and sat up straight for the privilege of gaining some knowledge that the majority of the public might not know. Even Kilik lifted his head from his defensive position and Harver turned in his seat slightly to watch the Asian beauty.

But Maka's attention was called to Liz Thompson's clenched fists and pursed lips.

"Yes, he certainly does, Ox. But, as I am sure you know, he is not allowed to discuss cases with his family, so I do not know too much of it." Ox quickly leaned forward, obviously prepared for such an answer.

"That is true, but that doesn't mean you haven't seen or heard anything of interest. Surely, you've overheard _something _or stumbled upon one of your father's leads? At the very least surely you can explain their reasoning behind these desecrated and decimated bodies being found and ruled as 'accidents?'"

Maka watched apprehensively as Liz and Tsubaki exchanged a glance. Her stomach felt tight and constricted like that time she was ten and ate every single chocolate she had gathered on Halloween. It had been dumb, a child's enthusiasm for sweet things on crack, and she had certainly paid for it by throwing up until the wee hours of the night and to this day had trouble swallowing much chocolate. The look in their eyes reminded her of two conspirators getting their stories straight or a lawyer and his guilty client preparing for court.

A part of her cheered though. She _knew _it! She had followed her gut and _knew _that something was going on with Death City and something was going on with Gallows Mansion and those two pretty faces with their heartfelt smiles and _boobs _knew something about it, too! And if they thought large mammary glands could save them, then they were dead wrong because Maka was a girl (a straight one at that) and she only had one head (the proper kind with a brain and stuff) which would not be deterred by breast envy! But then…

The headline flashed across her vision and with it a figure. She could see depthless, crimson circles, burning into her eyes and disjointed teeth somehow stretched into a smug grin and a voice whispering her name…

_Maka_

"Maka!" Kim shrieked, gripping her shoulder and shaking it fiercely. "Hellooooo?" She tugged on a pigtail for good measure. "Earth to Maka?" The blonde swatted her hand away with a huff and dazedly re-focused on the world around her.

School. Lunch room. Lunch time. People. Death City murder investigation. Got it.

"As I was saying," Kilik murmured hesitatingly as Kim pointedly elbowed Maka to make sure her attention was where it was supposed to be (or where she thought it ought to be), "I heard someone say it's a copycat from that serial killer who attacked Gallows Mansion in the 40's or 50's or something. Which would be kind of creepy."

Wait…what? Serial killer in the 40's? But what about the Evans massacre? Maka opened her mouth to voice her confusion, but Harvar cut her off with a snort.

"Please. That dude was a basket case and fell on his own weapon or something. Who would want to copy someone like that?"

How many freaking deaths _were _there in that house?

"I'm still not sure it's just a new killer. Death City seems to invite all kinds of lunatics in all walks of life to the area." Jacqueline murmured with downcast eyes, her fingers picking apart a Styrofoam cup.

Huh. Maybe the citizens weren't as oblivious to the town's crazy aura after all. As if to further illustrate this point, Kilik snapped and half stood up.

"That's true! Remember how the old school burnt down because of that bomber kid?"

Okay, now. This was getting kind of ridiculous. Maka had to speak.

"What bomber kid? And a serial killer at Gallows Mansion?"

And there it was again! That almost-spark between Liz and Tsubaki as their eyes met the other's. Maka wondered if anyone else was noticing it or if it was just her when Kilik's smirk alerted her to an explanation on the way.

"Oh, that's right! I keep forgetting that you aren't from around here and didn't grow up hearing all these ghost stories. Okay, so get this: there was this kid and no one really knows why, but he walked into school one day and just BAM! blew up an entire wing of the school! The rest of it caught on fire and that's why they switched buildings. People don't like to talk about it a lot of the time, but _that's _the real story of Shibusen Academy. Funny enough, he _also _happened to be living in Gallows Mansion at the time." He seated himself again and folded his arms, a satisfied smile creeping across his face at Maka's wide-eyed expression. "Not going to turn psycho on us, are you, Maka?"

What the _fuck _was wrong with this town? Serial killers and now teenage freaking bombers? Why hadn't anyone taken a nuclear missile to this town like they did to Raccoon City in Resident Evil: Apocalypse since it was probably only a matter of time till the _zombies _were invited to the party?

"Oh, whatever! Stop that, Kilik! Why are we talking about that, anyways?" Kim muttered agitatedly. "He's dead now so it's not like he has anything to do with this." She snapped her fingers and bounced up and down, happier than a child on Christmas. "Oh! Oh! But what about the legendary Evans murders!"

Maka's breath caught in her chest.

"Oh yeah!" Kilik or Harvar or someone shouted. She didn't really catch who.

"Yes, that was my initial hypothesis, but there is hardly any evidence to attest to what happened that night so I doubt they would be able to find evidence to his involvement in recent murders if he was the one committing them." Ox stated, face blank and straight as though the situation bored him terribly. Or maybe the "simpleton" theory did.

Nonetheless Maka was more entranced and attentive than she could remember being with anything (and that was saying something).

"He was never proven guilty, Ox, and you are aware of this." Tsubaki snapped, an unusual blue fire sparking in her eyes. She was so focused on trying to force a stern expression that she completely missed Liz's warning gaze. Ox merely shrugged in response to her not-at-all frightening demeanor.

"Just because they threw him in the asylum, if the stories are true, doesn't mean he wasn't guilty for killing his family. Mentally incompetent people commit murder, too, Tsubaki."

The beautiful raven haired girl grinded her teeth at Ox's rebuttal.

"There is no proof because Weston Evans was not responsible for the tragedy at Gallows Mansion, Ox. I believe that the evidence suggests a new serial killer as Jacqueline proposed rather than an old, haunted man coming back to the city where his family was brutally killed before his very eyes to take the lives of others."

And so the conversation continued with the rest of the teenagers debating on whether or not he was the murderer and throwing in a couple of other suburban legend killers that could be responsible for the gruesome scenes. Kim grinned at Maka and elbowed her once more in the ribs.

"Kind of freaky you lived in a house with not one, not two, but _three _killers in it, huh?"

"Yeah…Freaky."

But Maka wasn't paying attention to much anymore. She had checked out the second she heard a possible lead. She focused every ounce of memory and brain power in not freaking out about the serial killer and the bomber that her home once housed but remembering the name of the one some believed responsible for the Evans massacre. The one survivor of the night that newspaper hinted at.

_Weston Evans_

* * *

It took another whole week and numerous Google searches, but Maka finally thought she was going somewhere in her personal investigation of the town, Gallows Mansion, and possibly the so called serial killer.

Weston Eomere Evans. Age: 64. Location:…

And that's what was stumping her.

This guy moved around more than Leonardo DiCaprio in "Catch Me If You Can." Seriously? Didn't people who were initially thought to be suspect in a murder investigation get like tracking chips in them or something? Wasn't there a website for this kind of stuff or was it only for the sex offenders?

Luckily, she had Monsters and coffee to keep her company as Maka practically melded and became one with her laptop. She even slept with the darn thing since every single time she let it out of her sight the history was cleared and she'd have to start all-freaking-over!

Creepy fucking house with its shitty wireless router. She'd have to tell Papa they needed one for each wing of the house in order to keep a stable Internet connection.

Eventually, during another sleepless, caffeine-stimulated night, Maka blearily read that Weston Evans was actually living in _gasp_- somewhere in her gut she guessed it all along- Death City. He was staying in a local retirement home, one coincidentally not that far of a walk from the Academy.

Which is how Maka Albarn ended up on the steps of Death City's Assisted Living.

She tried not to laugh at the irony of the name and instead concentrated on finding and acquiring a meeting with one Mr. Evans, who, if Google could be trusted (and everyone knew it could), was currently residing there.

The reception area was boring and a blinding sunshine _yellow_ which somehow did the opposite of its intention and made the old person home appear that much more depressing. Wasn't the point of Assisted Living to keep people _away _from the light? But immediately Maka's chest ached with guilt at her cynical musings when three or four kindly nurses rushed immediately towards her, some literally dropping whatever they were doing, to ask what she needed.

People with actual _hearts _were the only kind that could work here.

But kindness, love, and heartfelt assistance didn't aid in the smell of the place as it unfortunately reeked like that of a hospital—piss, antiseptics, hand sanitizer, and that undefinable stench of someone dying permeated the air. Maka had to reassure herself by pausing at every mirror to see that no, she was not aging just by being there even though it sure felt that way what with the sweet staff speaking to her in that soft, reserved voice and offering her juice or an assortment of soft foods. They also escorted her every which way, even when she quietly mentioned she needed to use the restroom, causing her to wonder if they forgot that she wasn't a new client but a young (really, really young; like still had the prime of her life to go through and was in no way, shape, or form ready to be settled into a home like this) guest for a client.

She was being lead to the gardens one of the volunteers, who she was handed off to by a nurse, informed her.

"Mr. Evans absolutely adores the outside. He insists that he needs the sunshine in order to play music." Maka quirked an eyebrow at that.

"It's kinda hot here though, isn't it? I mean, I do almost everything I can to stay where there's AC." The lady simply broadened her already cheek-splitting smile and shrugged. It was kind of creepy…and reminded Maka of those ads where sharks were photoshopped with human teeth.

"Yes, well, Mr. Evans doesn't seem to mind it much. He tends to go out once at dawn, around 4 in the morning, so it's quite nice at that time. And then we always get a nice little piece of a concerto at dinnertime, which is why he's in the gardens right now. Oh, you have come at _just _the right moment, Ms. Albarn! Mr. Evans plays the most beautiful music I've ever heard!"

They stepped out of a glass living area onto luxurious granite steps that unfolded, like a flower, into several meandering paths of step stones all surrounded by the largest array of flowers Maka had ever seen. Colors, some so concentrated and radiant that Maka had to blink and rub her eyes a few times after staring, across the spectrum spread out before them as if a leprechaun or unicorn or some other mythical creature came down from Heaven and threw up a rainbow. If this was what one got after catching Lucky and his Charms, Maka thought her retinas could do without that victory. To make the whole spectacle more surreal, music, too beautiful, too intricate for just _one _person, wafted and swirled around them, enveloping them into the garden.

And people thought Eden didn't exist…

Maka didn't dare breathe, too afraid of disrupting the serenity floating along the wind, but all thoughts of peace and grace flew out the window when the _still _smiling woman pointed to a sitting elderly man cradling a violin against his neck in one hand and effortlessly moving a bow with the other. Maka's eyes grew to baby bird-size orbs.

Hair white…so white it was practically silver assaulted her senses and when he looked up at her under bushy, greying eyebrows there was that color again.

_Red_. A pure, unadulterated color that could only exist at the beginning of time. A red so fucking _red _that the color of blood and all the roses and flowers around them looked washed out in comparison.

The young blonde swallowed a scream before she ran to the nearest bush and puked her stomach, along with its contents, up.

"Sweetheart! Oh gosh! Are you okay? Do you need some water? Helen, call a doctor!"

Maka fiercely shook her head "no", a bobble-head about to burst, before tripping backwards up the stairs and catapulting herself into the retirement hall. Her feet thumped the carpet with an audible sound as she practically flew through the halls and out the front door. She didn't dare look back.

Her pigtails slapped against her neck and the tips whipped around her shoulders as she ran. She ran and she ran and _she ran_ as though somewhere inside her she believed she could outrun the sights and sounds and thoughts that plagued her mind. It wasn't _him_, but the similarities between the two…males…between Weston Evans and what she had originally considered an illusion wrought by her own imagination were striking and pretty conclusive. Either she was a psychic or…or…

Oh dear God, _please _say she had pseudo powers!

It wasn't until the blonde was completely exhausted and spent (and out of breath, perhaps she should consider working out?) that she decided to slow to a stop. She paused, hunched over with her hands on her knees and her chest heaving, and didn't try to hold in the tiny tremors washing up and down her body. She never imagined she would feel cold here in the middle of the fucking Nevada desert but then again she also never imagined finding evidence that a hallucination might be real either. It would seem the universe just _loved _to prove her wrong. Eventually her shakes got so bad that she had to fall inelegantly to her buttocks and sit there, leaning against…

Shut the fucking front door! Where _was _she?

Maka's head swiveled every which way and she internally cursed herself as she saw nothing but warehouses and sketchy shops to the left and the right. She currently was lying against a windowless warehouse wall in a street that probably leaned more towards the alleyway family. To make matters worse, the gray wall was steadily growing darker hinting at a relatively late hour and setting sun. She groaned loudly. Papa was going to be so worried which basically translated to near death via strangulation when she got home.

Despite her body being wracked with shivers and pins and needles, the teenager knew eventually she'd be okay. She was Maka Albarn after all! She merely had to tiredly shove all thoughts of…well, _everything _to the darkest corner of her mind and promise her frantic brain she would figure it out come morning after drowning a bottle of Benadryl to insure ten hours of dreamless relief sleep.

The girl was slowly pulling herself up when another draft of chills halted her progress. It was the oddest sensation—a twinge starting at the base of her skull and drifting lazily downwards like candle wax until it reached the tips of her toes. Her nails fiercely scratched the most irritating itch along her throat when a noisy sucking sound interrupted her hand movements. She froze, straining her ears to catch anything before rolling her eyes at her paranoid antics and continuing her sluggish retreat from the alleyway (or streetish thing).

**SNAP**

Maka's movements were halted once more as she heard the sound of something cracking and ripping somewhere ahead of her. It was a freaky sound, an unnatural one. The crackling reminded her of that one Thanksgiving where her mother eagerly bought a wishbone and asked Maka to break it apart with her. And that _rip_…almost as if someone was pulling apart a book with their bare hands…but no, not quite. She had heard pages being torn to pieces before and there was a…sort of wet quality, a _slurp_, to this noise that didn't sit well in her already sick stomach. Maybe someone was tearing up soggy Yellowpages or something.

Yeah. Yeah that was it.

She swallowed thickly, feebly striving to dislodge the lump in her throat because there wasn't any reason for it to be there. At all. There was no fucking reason for her heart to be pounding so hard. There was no reason—

Her foot landed on a piece of trash and Maka swore the following _crunch _was louder than a bomb going off in some Bruce Willis movie. She also swore that the next time she witnessed someone litter she was going to put her foot so far up their ass they were going to spit it out their mouth.

Something shuffled in front of her and a shadow came her way. Maka thought she was going to be sick (again) and hastily retreated when the shadow became a person. A young male, maybe a college frat boy, materialized out of the darkness and raised a nicely shaped honey blonde eyebrow at her. He kinda looked like Sawyer from Lost…and Maka felt a different sort of bubbles in her stomach.

He was sorta ruggedly handsome. And here she was all sweaty and shit from her trip down Freakout Lane.

They stared at each other awkwardly—Maka with a smile that bordered on grimacing and the guy with a surprised, didn't-think-anyone-was-here expression. His eyes craftily roved over her slender form and quickly assessed that they were indeed alone before speaking in a kindly, gentle Southern drawl.

"…Are you lost, ma'am? Do you need some assistance?"

Maka started to look behind her but got halfway through the ridiculous motion because who the fuck else would he be talking to?

"Um…I, well-I-no. No, I'm good. Just-uh got a little lost. New in the city and all. Hah." She coughed out a chuckle that sounded like she smoked two packs of cigarettes every day. His answering smile sent warmth blazing to her cheeks.

"Yeah, I hear ya', ma'am. But you best be going on now. It's dangerous out here at night." Maka nodded and acted like she was going to answer when he fidgeted slightly and his shoes squelched along the dirty ground. Her gaze was drawn downwards and the sheepish grin fell from her face.

…Was that…blood?

Her head snapped up and met cold, eerily blank eyes. He was still smiling, oblivious to the sinking, boneless sensation washing over her, but no matter how carefully emotion was arranged on his face his eyes reminded Maka of a crocodiles.

Frigid. And hungry.

Oh, fuck. Fuckity McFuckus. Fuck fuck _fuck_! Why didn't she notice it before? Also, could she please get her one phone call to the Powers-That-Be or Lady Fate since clearly she needed to place another order of "luck" and "doesn't constantly find herself in shitty situations."

"Yes…yeah. Yeah." She nodded a bit more emphatically and slid her feet backwards at a snail's pace, her eyes never leaving his still form. "You're right. Dangerous. Yeah. Well, I'm just-I'm going to go now. Be safe and-yeah. Bye."

Somewhere mid-talking a wind blew her hair out in front of her and the man stiffened. His nostrils flared and Maka didn't like his new expression. Not one fucking bit. His pupils started to expand, dilating until they took over his irises. And they didn't stop there. Oh no. Maka's jaw dropped as she watched the black overtake the white sclera in his eyes. Her nose twitched when he opened his mouth and took a purposeful step towards her, his breath assaulting her and, for a second, distracting her from the precarious situation.

Good fucking _Lord_, did he even _own_ a toothbrush? Because his mouth _stank_. Like he needed an all fucking Altoids diet or something. She had mints in her purse somewhere…

Oh, right. Possible killer coming closer. She should probably move now.

Maka's backwards shuffle picked up pace as his strides increased and he got closer and closer. She dug down deep, searching for the strength to sprint out of here, but she was so tired. The day had worn her down and it wasn't like she was _expecting_ to run into a serial killer. Who plans for that?

If only she would stop shaking like an excited Chihuahua then maybe an adrenaline rush would kick in and she could escape and call 911 and her throat itched super bad and oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit!

His skin was melting.

Like actually melting off his face.

The man before her was twitching and stuttering, each step jerky but quickening in speed. His hair was falling out in huge tufts, chunks of keratin floating in the air, as his cheeks started to slide down his face like soupy, flesh-colored tears. His body emitted popping noises and some of his fingers bent backwards towards his wrist with an earsplitting, hair-raising _snap _that distantly reminded her of breaking pencils in half. She saw his pinkies and thumbs fall to the ground in bloody lumps as the three remaining appendages grew nails the size of rulers and took the shape of hooked claws. His jeans, now too big for his spindly, misshapen legs, were shucked off and a tail (a _fucking _tail) long enough to slap _both _sides of the warehouse walls swished through the air.

All the while his skin fell in hissing globs to the concrete, eventually leaving behind nothing but stringy, disjointed muscles a sickly shade of green. And _that smell_—it poured out and surrounded her, poisoning her every breath, as his tongue unrolled between yellowed fangs and hung like ropy black licorice over his sideways jaw.

Maka dug her hand in her bag and whipped out the first decently sized object she could find and chunked it at the-the fucking _monster _in front of her before taking off in the opposite direction with a speed that would've made Usain Bolt proud.

She wouldn't realize the irony of her weapon until later when she discovered her last box of TicTacs went missing.

* * *

**Replies:**

**To Lueur-de-L'aube: **

First off, big fan of yours. Like, really. Wow. You read my story. And reviewed. Fangirling aside, thank you for the review and I am glad the idea intrigues you! I hope you enjoy (are enjoying) the story!

As for the characterization of Maka: I did notice her OOC-ness when I started this particular fanfiction (I unfortunately harbor one too many as well as my own original stories I flit around like some demented butterfly) and really cannot give too much excuse for it other than I wanted it this way and took artistic liberty. One could argue that this Maka _did_ grow up quite differently than the one in canon and that this could garner _some _of the OOC-ness, though honestly I have no excuse for portraying her as overly resentful, despite the fact that I can offer some reasoning behind it. This Maka is slightly less mature than canon Maka (given the fact that she didn't grow up in a world where she had to battle kishins and witches and what not) and therefore is taking the very recent divorce, loss of her mother, adultery of her father, and relocation of her home quite hard. She, in a way, is lashing out at Liz and Tsubaki (because they are her father's type _and _she feels "weird" around them) and does not have a huge desire to become socially involved with people in this crazy town (mostly cause she figures she's a senior in high school and she'll be leaving soon). She may come off as snobbish and pretentious, but really she's confused, lonely, and sort of suffering an inferiority-complex because her mom's gone, her father's hardly home, she's just moved halfway across the country, she thinks she's going insane, and she has absolutely no one to talk to (yet). So…yeah she's a bit resentful and bitter I suppose…

However, I didn't want her to be too OOC. Obviously that is something I will have to watch in future chapters since part of the reason I chose Maka as the central character for this story (instead of, say, having it be Soul and Maka be the ghost or whatever) was because of her accepting personality which will be crucial to later parts. I truly am grateful you noticed and pointed this OOC-ness out and I can say that I will try to look out and correct some of it, though forgive me if my portrayal of Maka in We Are the Dead continues to be a little off. All I can say for now is, yes, this Maka is infinitely more sassy, frustrated, caustic, somewhat cynical, and antisocial than the Maka we know and love from canon (which was deliberate), but from what I can tell…it works with and benefits the particular "flavor" and "design" of this story. I am hoping that as her familiar group of friends comes together, you see her character leans a bit more towards a canon Maka (or at least that's kind of what I intend).

But I _will_ work on the bitter part. That I did not intend too much of. The antisocialism…whoops, my bad. I'm sorry…she'll be nicer and open when she thaws out a little, I swear…Once again thank you for your review! I am excited to have new things to work on and think about!

**To mabello:**

Yes, I am honestly considering continuing Vini Vidi Vici, but I will admit it is on the back burner currently! I am glad you are excited and happy and I hope I have something for you relatively soon! Your reviews always warm my heart and your enthusiasm spurs me on so thanks so much for that!

**To BlueMonkeyDoll:**

I don't think communication via review is _that _odd haha! Thanks again for the review (still digging the avatar my friend!) and I hope you liked this chapter as much as the previous ones!

**To SnowTamashi Ai:**

Glad you are loving the story! Sorry for the relatively late update (life sigh) but I hope this lived up to your expectations and that you enjoyed it!

**To Little Did You Know:**

Oh believe me my dear reviewer, I plan on con-friggin-tinuing ;) Glad you are enjoying the story!

**To adolescentlemurs:**

Aww a medal? You shouldn't have! Thank you for such a kind review and I am ecstatic that the story has made you laugh and holds your attention! I will try my hardest to let the story flow and hopefully keep your attention!

**To my Guest reviewer:**

I love this story too and boy does it make me squeal like a ridiculous little kid when people say they love it or are in love! Thank you so much for the review!

**Encore: **I really don't have much to say...sorry for being late and I love you all! Thanks for trying the story and I hope you guys liked the chapter and certain developments! Have fun, loves!

-Bright

**NEXT TIME ON WE ARE THE DEAD:**

-Episode 04-

You've Never Truly Had A Headache Until You've Met Soul Eodred Evans


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